I LI BRARY O F COXGRESS, t 

# ^ 

^UNITED STATES OF AMKllICA.^ 



POEMS 



POEMS 



A SERIES OF 



TALES IN VERSE 



VARIETY OF LYRICAL PRODUCTIONS ON CHOSEN THEMES, 
INTENDED TO PLEASE THE MANY 
AND OFFEND NONE. 



J^ 



BY 



MRS. RACHEL RHOADS, 

C' THE AMERICAX HARP,") 
AUTHORESS OF "THE MINSTREL LYRE," " ZIMLUKA," ETC. 




PHILADELPHIA. 

J. B. LTPPINCOTT & CO. 
1863. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 

J. P.. LIPPINOOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Kastern District of Pennsylvania. 



'Xhl 1^ 



CONTENTS. 

^M 

PAGE 

Napoleon and Josephine 9 

The old man's story 15 

Our country 23 

Morning • 24 

Genius in bud 25 

The dawn of light on heathen nations 26 

To the sun while setting 28 

A true friend a blessing. 29 

The old garden wall 29 

What wouldst thou have? 31 

The angel's choice 33 

Valentine Fair 35 

The triumph of genius 38 

Hope 42 

To the ocean 44 

A ballad 46 

The mariner 48 

The first wrong 50 

God's noblest work 51 

On the close of the year 54 

My jessamine vine 56 

The horrors of war 57 

Stanzas 60 

Ode to day 61 

'Tis even so 62 

(V) 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAQS 

The slave's complaint 08 

The infant querist 68 

Spring 70 

Summer 71 

Autumn 72 

Winter 74 

Love ditty 75 

The robber 76 

Stanzas 90 

The bachelor's lament 91 

Written on a cloudy day in autumn 96 

The voice of war 98 

Be careful whom thou blamest 100 

Hopes flatter 102 

The blind mariner 103 

The spirit of wrath 110 

My pet kitten 112 

The betrayed and the penitent 113 

The elopement 119 

The home of the blest 121 

Little Nelly Dale 122 

The pioneer of the west ,... 125 

To Zumenia 127 

The Creole bride 128 

Grandpapa's wig 139 

Old Dobbin 141 

The repose of the dead 143 

My pet robin 144 

Our mother's grave 146 

Autumn is here 147 

The happy fisherman 148 

The suicide I53 

The blind child 150 

The village green I59 



CONTENTS. Vll 

PAGE 

What is love? 161 

The moss-covered seat 163 

The parting 164 

The miser 166 

Close not thine ear 168 

The voice of nature 169 

The reunion 171 

The apostate daughter 186 

Conscience 192 

The goblin, or reformed coward 193 

The trumpet of war 201 

To my mother 202 

The fatal request 203 

Ode to summer 214 

The strawberry girl 215 

Midnight view 217 

The pearl of great price 219 

The humming- bird 220 

The snow-storm 221 

The orphan girl 225 

Give the hand 227 

Try again! 229 

The mariner's bride 230 

The lock of hair 232 

The way to be happy 233 

The fatal ring 235 

Hope 282 

The speaking flower 283 

The forfeited kiss 286 

The little cripple 288 

The hero's grave 289 

Nature's solitude 291 

The impatient swain 293 

Shun the cup 295 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAfiE 

Despair never! 206 

Friendship a treasure 207 

Summer is gone! 298 

Profane thou not the living God 300 

Our mother 301 

A song to the ocean 303 

The reformed gambler 304 

The gouty uncle 308 

The warrior's dream 315 

A tale of the crusades 319 

The fisherman and his son 329 

The false-hearted 333 

The fall and death of Pompey 335 

To the Deity 346 



NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 

What form is that, 'neath many a velvet fold 
Of gorgeous hangings, wrought in threads of gold, 
With features fair, most beautiful and bland, 
As though just sculptured by some master-hand? 
Within those eyes, what depths of flashing light 
Shine from their fringes, like some orb of night 
Beaming in silent grandeur from above. 
While each expression tells of hope and love ! 

'Tis Josephine, the beauteous child of wrong, 
Whose name will ever grace the poet's song ; 
Her jeweled arm supports her classic head, 
While memory wanders o'er bright moments fled, 
And marks the vista of unfolding years, 
Which may prove joyous — or be wrung with tears- 
Should Time his golden honors still display. 
And Fortune crown her conquering Hero's way. 

With what afi'ection and what anxious soul 
She counts the varied moments as they roll, 
Leading her proud and nobly-gifted sire. 
At every turn, in martial glory higher. 

2 (9) 



10 NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 

She hears the loud, the clarion tongue of Fame, 
From shore to shore resounding with his name ; 
High deeds of valor and victorious sway 
Have gained him all the honors of the day. 
The laurel rests upon his lofty brow, 
While hopes exulting in his bosom glow; 
With priHe he views the golden trophies won 
On Egypt's plains, beneath a burning sun. 
What cares he now for Infidel or Moor ? 
A crown is won ! a kingdom made secure ! 
Devoted France must succumb to his power, 
And claim Napoleon as its emperor ! 

Not clamorous councils sitting in debate 
Could hope to turn him from his lofty state 
When once his bold, aspiring motives rose 
To grasp the reins and quell his envious foes. 
For proud ambition led the hero on, 
From conquering deeds to mighty empires won, 
Till nations trembled at the dread of war, 
And thousands bled beneath the victor's car. 

But view again that beauteous, loving form, 
Whose bosom thrills with sweet emotions warm ; 
What anxious thoughts inveigh her precious mind 
While brooding o'er her hero, brave and kind 1 
She hears the shout of honor and applause 
Soar on the air, and well divines the cause ; 
She knows the nature of her valiant sire. 
Whose heart and hopes to kingly deeds aspire. 
Vive Napoleon ! Yes, she greets the sound 
That now ascends from countless voices round. 
While throngs confused rush madly to and fro — 
Some drunk with joy, some too with bleeding woe; 



NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 11 

For strange reverses must in main appear, 
Now that her lord the jeweled crown must wear. 

But does the .smile of bliss illume her brow ? 
Doth golden dreams across her vision flow, 
While grand results seem crowding o'er her fate 
And glorious honors all her steps await ? 
Ah, no! A veil dark as the pall of night 
Intruding, shrouds all gladness from her sight ; 
Looming and mournful thoughts unbidden rise. 
And prompt the tear to glisten in her eyes. 

Alas ! that dreams foreboding thus should pain 
A heart so pure, so void of passions vain ; 
A soul to every gentle virtue given. 
As though a daughter well approved of Heaven. 
But while the shout went up upon the air 
In honor of her brave and valiant sire, 
She felt emotions that too plainly told 
Peace was not won by earthly fame or gold. 
A thousand fears possessed her generous mind 
In princely halls she would no pleasure find ; 
She cared not for the pomp of regal state. 
But loved a virtuous and more lowly fate ; 
Nor could her loving, faultless lips refrain 
From kindly warnings, o'er and o'er again, 
To him who held her destiny in hand. 
Her love, her peace, her life too, at command. 
Fain would she curb his proud, ambitious views, 
And have him still a humbler pathway choose; 
But no ! On, on, through martial storm and toil 
Napoleon dashed, resolved to win the goal! 



12 NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 

True, the fair Josephine, while with anxious heart, 
Saw her loved lord pursue his glorious part, 
Could not avoid a sense of inward pride 
To hear his praises deeply multiplied. 
Ah, no! she was not proof against the power 
Of deeds heroic that then came crowding o'er ; 
She loved, adored his grand and master mind, 
Naj, worshiped — if so it may be defined — 
His every look ; each accent from his tongue, 
Like music on her gentle hearing hung. 

The die was cast ! We see the conqueror come 
To share the honors of his regal home ! 
The palace halls now ring with festive mirth. 
As though a day was born to bless the earth, 
And mighty schemes were waiting to unfold 
Their wealth of wonders, as in times of old ; 
Yes, times when Rome her Cesars brave could boast, 
And martial armies, numbered by the host. 
Spread their vast phalanx o'er Pharsalia's plains, 
To pour out there the blood of proudest veins ! 

Another Cesar ! yes, but greater far 
Was brave Napoleon's mighty feats of war ! 
What tottering kingdoms felt his potent sway, 
What empires raised or crushed within a day! 
What hosts of valiant sons obeyed his call, 
Resolved to conquer or most nobly fall ! 
See what success attends his martial reign — 
Each battle fought is never fought in vain, 
For victory is the shrill, the battle cry, 
We go to conquer, or we go to die ! 



NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 13 

Ambitious man ! What deep, insatiate thirst 
Burned in thy breast, e'en from the very first, 
To grasp the world, and bring submissive down 
Imperial nations, subject to thy crown ! 
'Twere not enough to raise in might and power, 
And have thy natoe to sound from shore to shore; 
Too great, I wot, thy greatness fain would be, 
Too hardly earned thy immortality. 

But let us pause in this thy vast career: 

Oh ! couldst thou but have been contented here — 

But no! more brilliant hopes and schemes were thine; 

Thou didst aspire to raise a kingly line ; 

A throne so bravely and so hardly won 

Must not be minus of a royal son ! 

If ever hell a thought revealed to uaian, 

'Twas this to spoil thy every future plan ; 

For glory and success, by Heaven's decree. 

From that foul moment never followed thee. 

What ! leave that angel wedded to thy fate. 
Whose soul watched o'er thy early hours and late 
With trusting love, and confidence so true. 
That spirits from the upper world might view. 
And sanction with recording voice and pen. 
As worthy of the greatest, best of men ! 
What ! leave that partner of thy griefs and fears. 
Thy joys and prosperous dreams, and kingly cares, 
To take another to thy regal arms. 
Whose soul possessed not half her glowing charms ? 
Shame on the hour ! yes, sorrow veiled the day 
That thou didst cast thy Josephine away ! 
2* 



14 NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 

An heir was born ! But oh ! the bitter thought, 

With that fond gift a solemn change is wrought ; 

Can that pure wife, of sweet, neglected love. 

Rejoice o'er this young treasure from above? 

For thus it seemed that Heaven did grant thy prayer, 

Proud monarch, and bestowed a royal heir ! 

But mark the turn of fortune and of fate. 

What sorrows o'er thy dooming steps await ! 

For God had sent abroad his wise decree, 

That what Napoleon aimed at ne'er should be; 

No regal son should mount that earthly throne 

Which proud ambition had so darkly won. 

Nor joy could bloom in that young mother's breast, 

Who robbed another of her wedded rest ; 

For worlds united should not tempt a heart 

To act so callous and so base a part ! 

Poor Josephine ! I see thy beauteous mien. 

Through vision, as thou erst had often been 

In happier mood, arrayed in jeweled tire. 

For wondering hearts to honor and admire. 

Nor dreamt so sad a change would mark thy fate, 

And trials fall with overwhelming weight 

Upon that bosom which so fondly hung 

To hopes elate, then left it rudely wrung. 

No wonder that thy frenzied feelings strove 

In vain to cancel chaste, enduring love, 

Toward the object of thy spirit's choice, 

Who won thee by the music of his voice, 

For vows exalted met thy gentle ear. 

Nor couldst thou doubt those breathings were sincere. 

But oh ! the burning burst of agony 
That overwhelmed thy queenly destiny. 



THE OLD man's STORY. 15 

When he, with dauntless lips, could fain impart 

What well he knew would break thy gentle heart ! 

But now the deep, the tragic dream is past. 

And long consigned to dark oblivion's waste, 

Save the lone herald of historic fame, 

The page that points to each immortal name ! 

Speaking of martial glory won and lost, 

Ere the proud victor was an exile tost 

On Saint Helena's barren sea-girt shore, 

To die a victim through tyrannic power. 

Alas ! what thoughts were thine in bitter mood, 
In this, thy lonely, august solitude ; 
For though surrounded by a peopled soil. 
Thy feelings mingled not with busy toil ; 
For weary, sorrowing, did thy spirit yearn 
For freedom, and to home again return. 
'Twas all in vain, and echo answers why. 
The royal captive was sent there to die ! 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY, 

OR, 
HOW BLESSINGS COME IN DISGUISE. 

"Come hither, my boy !" said a weary old man, 
As he sat on the turf near his own cottage door ; 

"My morning is past, and life's but a span. 

And soon will its lengthened out moments give o'er. 



16 THE OLD man's STORY. 

" But listen and learn while youth's on thy brow, 

For changes and scenes may appear 
Not dreamt of, to darken thy sunny heart now. 

For strange is our mortal career. 

" Yea, thou art so young ! but time hurried flies, 
And spring's early bloom fades away. 

And manhood and vigor successively rise, 
And spread their bold front to the day. 

"Then let gentle counsel, like seed in good ground, 

Take root in thy juvenile brain ; 
That when a few seasons have traveled their round. 

Instruction has not proved in vain. 

"When I was a youth, as thou art, my boy. 

With feelings as generous and bold, 
I lived but in scenes that were lit up with joy. 

Nor dreamt of the time to grow old. 

"My parents were wealthy, were proud of their son. 
And oft would they pat my white head, 

And smile o'er the wonderful freaks I had done 
When among my brave play-fellows led. 

" But, ah ! what a change came over my doom ; 

My father was called to the field. 
And battle soon gave him a warrior's tomb, 

And the fate of the future revealed. 

"And now what I wish soon to show you is this. 
Though my story in pain may be drest. 

That changes in life, when robbed of all bliss. 
May happen, my son, for the best. 



THE OLD man's STORY. IT 

" Mj father now dead, the first blighting scene 

Burst over my infantile view, 
For kindest of parents that father had been, 

And kind was my dear mother too. 

"Alas ! when I turn to those moments long gone, 
When the spring of my childhood was beaming 

With blessings that fell as seasons rolled on, 
And life was with fairy dreams teeming, — 

"And think of the trouble and deep folding gloom 

That fell like a pall of death o'er me. 
For scarce had my father sank down in the tomb. 

Than death from my mother dear tore me ! 

" We wept o'er our loss, for we felt it too sure, 
For the sun of our day dream was clouded. 

And ills like a tempest, too much to endure, 
O'er the hopes of the future were clouded. 

" Too much was the grief; like a canker it hung 

O'er her bosom so noble and kind, 
Till the last gentle chord of her heartstrings was wrung. 

And left me an orphan behind. 

" Oh ! blighting regret ! oh ! moments of pain ! 

What anguish, what bursting of feeling. 
Were never before, nor can be again. 

As when by her corse I was kneeling ! 

" Oh ! shade of my mother ! thy last holy prayer. 

As breathed when thy spirit departed. 
Still sounds in its tenderest tones on my ear. 

And makes me once more infant hearted. 



18 THE OLD man's STORY. 

" But then, my dear boy, I dasli off the tear, 
Forgive an old man for this token, — 

When memory reverts to those hearts that were dear, 
Its fountain is sure to be broken." 



THE BOY S REPLY. 

" Dear father," said now the young lad, as he wept 

To see age in tears, "I feel pained; 
Nor can I discover in all that's past yet. 

That blessings were thus to be gained. 

" You told me that all you would deign to relate 

Should prove a broad lesson, to test 
That all that occurred in the scenes of one's fate 

Would happen perhaps for the best. 

"Was it good that your parents were taken away, 
And sorrows shed gloom o'er your head ? 

I am sure if I had, sire, but one word to say, 
'Twould be misery placed in its stead. - 

"Blest ! that word is so ample, I cannot conceive. 

When dangers and trials draw near. 
Why your generous feelings were taught to believe 

That bliss in disguise would appear ?" 

THE OLD MAN. 

"Well, hearken, my boy," said the reverend sage, 
"I've not told you half of my ditty; 

Though the scenes of my youth fill up many a page, 
We must mingle delight with our pity. 



THE OLD man's STORY. 19 

" 'Tis true I was of both my parents bereft, 

And I, to a stern guardian's care 
A poor little friendless orphan was left, 

With none my affliction to share. 

" But evil seemed brewing in destiny's mould, 

To fashion my future career; 
My guardian laid claim to my silver and gold, 

And left me a beggar boy here. 

"Divested of all that was needful on earth 

To render me happy, I found 
The fate of the future was like to give birth 

To many a dangerous wound. 

"Some years fled apace; to manhood I grew; 

A slave on the galleys I dwelt : 
And as for vicissitudes, naught else I knew, 

Nor aught but keen sorrow I felt. 

" I bore with all patience the weight of my toil, 

As well as my nature could bear. 
Yet often, while forced from my own native soil, 

I drank of the cup of despair. 

"I now 'gan to murmur at Heaven's decree, 
That my fate to misfortune was chained. 

When sudden a change was extended to me 
That little I dreamt to have gained. 

"By a skirmish of war, I was cast on a shore 

That was strangely savage and wild ; 
But soon I perceived there were blessings in store 

For the slave and the poor ocean child. 



20 THE OLD man's STORY. 

"Being blest with some knowledge acquired in youth, 

Which I ever most jealous retained, 
And languages many I studied forsooth, 

Delighting to have such explained. 

"For on these vast galleys all nations and tongues 

Appear to exist, that is true; 
And each seem quite sensible too in their way, 

From the Turk to the Babylon Jew. 

"Thus learning, dear boy, was a blessing, to bring 

My friendless heart to a station 
That soon was decreed by the generous king 

To make me the chief of a nation. 

" So pleased was his royal affection for me. 
That he proved a kind father and friend ; 

And as a reward for my services, he 
His daughter bestowed in the end. 

"Yes, yes ! the fair Tama, an angel of love, 

Was given to me for a bride. 
Who was all that my holiest hopes could approve. 

With honors and riches beside. 

" Some years, they rolled by, the king was no more, 
Yet blessings and wealth were our claim : 

A son and a daughter were joined to our store, 
And grateful were we for the same. 

"And now I proposed to the bride of my soul — 
As I longed for my own native land — 

To come with our children and dwell on the soil 
Where freedom and liberty stand. 



THE OLD man's STORY. 21 

" She consented with joy, for I was her guide, 

Her being, her happiness, all. — 
Thus soon we were borne on the deep ocean wide. 

Nor did tempest or danger befall. 

"And thither we came ; though now we are old, 

Yet blest are we still in our store ; 
Our children are settled : we gave them our gold, — 

They are happy, we ask nothing more. 

" The very best children they are too, I own ; 

In yonder gay mansion they live ; 
And we feel, and we know we are not left alone, 

For blessings they constantly give. 

" Enough we have got of our own, very true. 

This beautiful cottage and lawn. 
And means that are plenty still break on our view 

From night till the sweet morning dawn ! 

'* Their home too, is ours ; but we now delight 

To live in simplicity's style; 
The gay things of splendor we do not think right, 

Lest our old feeble hearts they might spoil. 

" So now, my dear boy, was it not for the best. 
That afflictions and sorrows were mine? 

For had I not been on a slave galley prest, 
I'd have missed cunning Fortune's design. 

"My guardian a wretch of the vilest became. 

In the midst of his ill-gotten prize ; 
He murdered himself on the strength of his gain, 

For conscience they say never dies. 
3 



22 THE OLD man's STORY. 

"But thinking me lost, or a wanderer doomed, 

He left his possessions to be, 
If e'er I returned, all the wealth he'd assumed, 

With his own to be given to me. 

"And thus you perceive that fate was still true; 

For had he not robbed me, I ne'er 
Should have got mj own fortune, with his, my boy, too. 

And perhaps would have never been here. 

"And now, let me tell you, whatever in life 

You find to go gloomy and wrong. 
Bear patient each ill, each unfavoring strife, 

For some blessing may to them belong. 

" Believe me, I deem it exceedingly wise 

To be both enduring and kind. 
For blessings, my boy, often come in disguise, 

That joy in the end we may find !" 

BOY. 

" Thanks, sire, for all you have told me ; for now 

I will profit by counsel so wise ; 
Submissive to fate I will humbly bow, 

And trust Father Time as he flies." 



OUR COUNTRY. 23 



OUR COUNTRY. 



Land of sweet liberty, land of the West, 
The home of the weary, the brave, and oppressed, 
What glory, what honor, what martial renown, 
Around thy bright altars are proudly thrown ! 

We look on thy triumph through years that are gone, 
The loud clang of battle, and victories won. 
And see our proud banner with beauty unfurled, 
As a signal of joy to astonish the world. 

How late, in primeval grandeur, was seen 
Tall forests, bright, waving in rich flowing green. 
Where now stands our city, exalted and free. 
Whose goddess and glory is famed Liberty ? 

Sweet land of devotion, of honor, and peace ! 
Long, long may thy bountiful borders increase 
In science and knowledge, in wealth and in power, 
Till time gives its mystical changes no more. 

Yes ! long may thy banners, white, scarlet, and blue. 
Wave over the beautiful, gallant, and true, 
Inviting all nations to come and behold 
Our gardens of freedom, our portals of gold. 

'T is here that the weary and stricken may come. 
And share in the joys of our heaven-born home, 
Where dark usurpation and tyranny ne'er 
Sent its wild screams of famine and woe on the air. 



24 MORNING. 

But honor and plenty, with union and love, 
We cherish as bountiful gifts from above ; 
And proud as a nation that's gallant and free, 
We glory in triumph and famed Liberty. 



MORNING. 

Awake ! awake ! the blushing sky 
Is tinged with many a rosy dye. 

For day is gaily gleaming ! 
And weighty floods of golden light 
Descend in all their beauty bright, 

And on the waves are beaming. 

The tuneful zephyr steals along. 
And birds renew their early song. 

And cheerful is the morn ; 
The sweetest flowers bloom fair and gay, 
With foreheads open to the day. 

While dewdrops kiss the thorn. 

Awake, my muse ! nor silent prove. 
While nature breathes its hymns of love, 

And light and beauty glow 
O'er every feature, far and near, 
That flourish through the rolling year. 

And God's own wisdom show ! 

Trace but His mighty wonders o'er. 
That spread abroad from shore to shore : 
The deep his power proclaims — 



GENIUS IN BUD. 25 

Beneath whose lofty, rolling waves 
Are coral groves and diamond caves — 
There august silence reigns. 

Awake ! awake, ray muse ! the chime 
Of morning hells tune forth the time, 

And nature all looks cheering; 
The towering woods, and flowerets young, 
With every trembling leaf a tongue, 

Behold in praise appearing. 

Shake off, shake off each drowsy power. 
And mingle with the joyous hour — 

Come join the happy strain! 
Till time's uncertain numbers they 
Shall set in life's declining day. 

To rise and shine again. 



-^^ 



GENIUS IN BUD. 

Genius, like germs from some fair-spreading tree, 
Shoots forth in swelling grandeur from the mind, 

And proves in time what erst its fruits will be, 
By memory's templed gods to be enshrined. 

Like the sweet olive, in luxuriant pride. 
That nobly decks the rich and sunny soil. 

Is growing genius, spreading far and wide. 
While glory crowns the subjects of her toil. 
3* 



26 THE DAWN OF LIGHT ON HEATHEN NATIONS. 



THE DAWN OF LIGHT ON HEATHEN NATIONS. 

Hail, Asia! to the dawn of light 

Which o'er thy heathen temples shine ! 

'Tis glory breaks the spell of night 
That round your classic pillars twine. 

Omnipotent the morning breaks 

O'er superstition's fated land ; 
And many a weary pilgrim seeks 

The Christian brother's heart and hand. 

Round heathen temples green and dark, 
Where once Mohammed led his train, 

We can the Christian progress mark. 
For Gospel efforts proved not vain. 

Where now, ye worshipers of fire. 
Whose kindling altars fearful glow, 

Or ye who build the funeral pyre, 
For sacrifices here below. 

Will stand your mockery's direful aim, 
To lead the human heart astray. 

When He who is the great I AM, 
Ye and your soulless gods shall slay ? 

Pale memory turns, with soul aghast. 
To scenes upon the Ganges' side. 

Where solemn deeds of worship cast 
Your victims to its rolling tide. 



THE DAWN OP LIGHT ON HEATHEN NATIONS. 27 

What whitened bones beneath its waves, 
Will ne'er be told on history's page, 

Lie bleaching in their watery graves, 
Erail martyrs to the darkened age. 

And view abroad, o'er Hindoo plains. 
Where many a ghastly skull appears, 

Where Juggernaut's dark spirit reigns. 
And there his demon temple rears. 

Bleaching beneath the burning sun 
The bones of countless mortals lie, 

Whose frantic souls once heedless run 
Beneath his chariot wheels to die. 

Then hail to India's dawning hour. 
When glory burst the gates of night. 

And Gospel eloquence and power 
Essayed to spread its holy light ! 

Down to the shades of darkest void 

May superstition e'er be hurled. 
Till naught but righteousness enjoyed 

Shall flood and inundate the world. 

When He whose majesty supreme 
Shall wave His sceptre and His rod. 

And wake creation to a scene 

That claims and knows no other God ! 



28 TO THE SUN WHILE SETTING. 



TO THE SUN WHILE SETTING. 

In purple and gold thy beauty is setting, 

Thou glorious orb of day ! 
And dewdrops the lovely flowers are wetting, 

As thy last dying streak fades away. 

'Tis a season of calmness and pleasure, 

When the heart loves to muse o'er the past ; 

When moments of peace were a treasure, 
As though they forever would last. 

But pleasures are fickle and fleeting, 

As zephyrs that float through the bower; 

Y?n scarce give them joyful greeting, 
Than they perish and fade in an hour. 

But oh! for that beauty unbroken, 

That never shall wither or die ; 
That blissful and glorious token 

That beams from God's portals on high. 

When the light of the Spirit Eternal 
Rolls on through immensity's space; 

Nor needs thy eff'ulgence diurnal. 
To illumine the heavenly place. 

That home of the just and the weary. 
Where blessings undying remain. 

Where beauty can never grow dreary. 
Nor the soul be unhappy again. 



THE OLD GARDEN WALL. 29 



A TRUE PRIEND A BLESSING. 

How sweet to find a generous heart 

While roaming through life's giddy throng, 

A soul devoid of guile or art, 

To whom all virtuous traits belong. 

A firm, a brave, devoted mind, 

Who changes not when ills oppress; 

Never ceasing to be kind, 

And then if poor ne'er loves you less. 

Ay, when misfortunes shade the brow 
And veil the trusting soul with care, 

'Tis sweetly soothing then to know 
You have a friend those woes to share. 

But vain and fickle often prove 

Those whom we deem the most sincere; 

We find their pity and their love 
As fleeting as the desert air. 



-^^ 



THE OLD GARDEN WALL. 

Dear ruin, how I love thee, in thy ivy-mantled power, 
For thy beauty now reminds me of many a gone-by hour. 
When youth and hopes were brightest, and life was free 

as air. 
And visions hung the lightest o'er the brow that knew 



30 THE OLD GARDEN WALL. 

Thj old gray arches tell me of many a fairy scene; 
Though changes have befell me, sad changes they have 

been; 
The mind, with fond devotion, loves to linger o'er the 

past, 
For memory, like the ocean, swells and surges to the 

last. 

What sunny days of pleasure hang around the spring of 

youth, 
"When innocence, sweet treasure, lights our pathway up 

with truth. 
And friendship smiles endearing give rapture to the 

heart. 
Each passing moment cheering, free from all disguise or 

art ! 

Remember do I truly, when my romping days were done, 
And I ceased to be unruly, who my first affections won; 
It was my own dear Jesse, the fair boy at the mill, — 
He was the youth to bless me, and I think I see him still. 

How oft at twilight hour, when the summer skies were 

clear, 
And many a beauteous flower sent its odors through the 

air. 
Have we wandered through the wood, through the bower 

and the hall. 
And many a time we stood 'neath thy ivy-mantled wall ! 

And many a shining cluster of rich and purple fruit, 
The brightest we could muster, our happy hearts to suit, 
Would we gather all so merry, then hasten to the bower, 
To sip the lucious berry and talk friendship by the hour. 



WHAT WOULDST THOU HAVE? 31 

But dreams of youth are winning, as moments steal 

apace : 
All things have a beginning in every sphere or place ; 
And thus our hearts united from friendship into love, 
Till Jesse dear invited me his honored bride to prove. 

And many are the hours long gone or past away. 
Since joyous youth and power gave its vigor to the day ; 
Yet seasons though they vanish and changes still appear, 
There is naught our love can banish though our age is in 
the sear. 

And still we love to wander 'neath the dear old garden 

wall. 
At its climbing beauties wonder, and heavy moss withal. 
Yet think the glowing tracing in its twining, tottering 

age, 
Is like myself and Jesse — sinking^ slowly from life's 

stage. 



WHAT WOULDST THOU HAVE? 

What wouldst thou crave ? would riches be 
A source of light and joy to thee ? 

I pray thou wilt beware ! 
They are allurements truly vain, 
That many a noble heart hath slain 

And doomed to deep despair. 

Wouldst thou have honors in the field. 
Where deeds of valor often yield 
A gory, ghastly sight ? 



32 WHAT WOULDST THOU HAVE? 

'Tis not the clarion blast of war 
That can make bright thy setting star, 
Or cheer death's coming night ! 

Wouldst thou to festive scenes repair, 
To find unshaken pleasures there ? 

A phantom thou wilt find : 
Not all the gilded rosy hours 
That fain would strew thy path with flowers 

Will yield thee peace of mind. 

'Tis not in homes of stately form, 

Or kindling smiles of friendship warm, 

Can render sweet repose; 
Not palaces, nor wealth, nor power. 
Nor martial mighty deeds of war. 

Thy hours in peace will close ! 

Alas ! how vain are fleeting joys. 
Which rolling time so soon destroys ! 

They vanish like a dream. 
A few short changes mark our day. 
When life is found to ebb away 

Like snowflakes on a stream. 

Then let us turn with feelings true, 
While holy wisdom guides us through. 

To that sweet Lamb of Love I 
Who calls in bleeding mercy still. 
That all obedient to His will 

May share His bliss above ! 



THE ANGEL'S CHOICE. 33 



THE ANGELAS CHOICE. 

A SPIRIT of bUss, in a curtain of Hght, 
Came down on the voiceless bosom of night 
And wandered invisible, searching to find 
A subject most holy and pure to her mind. 

She traversed the earth in a passion of love, 
Such as the bright order of angels approve, 
And touched her light foot with a magical bound 
Where she thought the sweet treasure of bliss might be 
found. 

The world was all hushed in its dreamy repose, 
And scarcely a sound on the deep silence rose. 
Save the hum of an insect or evening bird. 
In the lonely night watch, was now to be heard. 

She paused as she gazed on the slumbering world. 
Then pressed her bright brow with glory impearled. 
Invoking instruction which way to pursue 
To find what was beautiful, perfect, and true. 

She listened, a sound came up on the air — 
It was a sweet maiden in wrestling prayer — 
From the chamber of death where a dear mother lay, 
Whose spirit was rapidly ebbing away. 

Her features, like marble, were chaste to behold. 
For Heaven had formed her in beauty's own mould, 
Were bathed in a deluge of beautiful tears, 
As bright as the dew of the morning appears. 

4 



34 THE angel's choice. 

Then silent and noiseless the messenger flew 

From the chamber of death, her way to pursue, 

For she found the fair maiden, though truthful and pure, 

Was not the bright tribute she wished to secure. 

And now with a trip that was light as the air 
That tunefully sweeps o'er the gossamer's snare, 
She flourished her plumes, then winged her lone way 
To search for the treasure without more delay. 

And soon a grand palace arose to her view, 
And thither the heaven-born messenger flew. 
For there the soft echo of music arose, 
Like the harp spirits song over midnight repose. 

For there as the lingering melody hung, 
It told a sweet story of two beings young. 
Whose union of bliss Hymen's fetters had wove. 
And joined in a triumph of holiest love. 

Affection so pure was a beautiful theme. 
Yet was not the spotless treasure supreme. 
The angel of glory would hold as a prize 
To carry exulting away to the skies. 

Then again the sweet messenger turned from the sphere 
Where music and harmony hung on the ear, 
And hastened to where a bright, loved infant lay. 
As fair as the beauties of opening day ! 

On the breast of the mother the little one slept, 
While an innocent smile o'er its fair features crept. 
She thought in a transport the boy had been given 
As one of the holiest gifts under heaven. 



VALENTINE FAIR. 35 

She gazed on the stamless creature, and soon 
She made up her mind it would be the right boon, 
When, waving her wing o'er its slumbering brow, 
She bore it away from this dark world of woe. 

The mother now knew that her darling was blest, 
Though hastily wrung from her unconscious breast, 
For lo ! the bright morning revealed to her sight 
Her beautiful offspring had died in the night. 



-^^- 



VALENTINE FAIR, 

OR 
LOVE IN DISGUISE. 

Said Mary to Minty, "I tell you what, 
While you are thus moping there. 

You have in your indolent mood forgot 
To day is the Valentine Fair ! 

*' The beaus and belles are tripping away 

To the village behind the hill. 
To purchase a ribbon or billet-doux gay, 

With a merry and right good will. 

*'For now is the time for hearts and darts 
And Cupids with golden wings. 

For Love knows how to carry his arts 
'Neath paper and silken strings. 

"Such billing and cooing, in earnest or fun. 

Is pleasing enough to be sure. 
But as for a beau, you or I have got none, 

'Tis horrid the thought to endure ! 



36 VALENTINE FAIR. 

" Then let us away to the Yalentinc Fair, 

Nor mope in the cottage forever ; 
Who knows but a happy gallant may he there 

That may think you or I very clever ? 

"And thus ere the sun shall sink in the sky, 

And nature is hushed to repose, 
A billet of love to our cottage may fly, 

Bound up in some blessing — who knows !" 

"Oh! hush, dearest Sis! how little you know!'* 

The innocent Minty replied ; 
"I've got something here I could very soon show, 

Which caused me to laugh till I cried. 

"Don't measure my fate by your own, 

Or think I no lover can find; 
If we do live secluded and lone, 

I've long found a youth to my mind. 

"And here near my heart is his vow, 

In a valentine penciled in gold ; 
I received it, my sister, just now. 

When you were not here to behold." 

"A valentine! sister, you joke! 

It cannot be true what you say ! 
If so I am ready to choke. 

That you would be sly in this way ! 

"For never a man has been here 

To tarry an hour, you know. 
Save the young village pastor, Moclear, 

And he never came as a beau." 



VALENTINE FAIR. 37 

"Yes, yes, but he did, sister mine! 

He loves with a bosom sincere ; 
The same way my feelings incline, 

And thus we're a lovable pair." 

Oh ! horror of horrors ! the frown 

That rose to that petulant brow, 
Told Mary was near overthrown, 

Yet to hide it she could not tell how. 

For long she had loved in disguise 

The parson, yet never dare name 
A passion so hopeless, unwise. 

Lest she would be scorned for the same. 

A dream the most foreign, ne'er told 
Her heart that the pastor would deign 

To choose from so humble a fold 
A damsel to love and maintain. 

Thus terrible was it, to hear 

That Minty had gathered the prize, 

Would be married in less than a year 
To one who was holy as wise. 

Poor Mary from that very hour 
Felt all her hopes wither and fade ; 

She ne'er spoke of valentines more, 
And died in the end an old maid ! 



38 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 



THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 

Genius ! thou fair and early boon of Heaven, 
Bestowed on man while yet the world was young, 

The kindest and the holiest treasure given 
Since light hath over God's creation hung ! 

When first the morning stars together sang 
With joy exulting o'er the birth of time, 

And heavenly courts with rapturous praises rang. 
Thyself was heard to join the hymn sublime. 

The muses, in their youthful beauty, flew 

From plains celestial to this new-born sphere, 

While God Apollo soon the graces drew 
Around his heart by music soft and clear. 

And who had taught the winning god to charm 
The lovely nymphs by sweeping thus his lyre. 

Or thrilled their spirits with devotion warm 
By sacred breathings of poetic fire? 

'Twas thou, fair maid, in classic glory dressed. 
Taught him the tuneful honors and the bliss 

Of gaining votaries, which the god caressed. 
Thus won his laurels in a world like this. 

A boon of Heaven we call thee : so thou art, 

A portion of the deity divine! 
He whose broad wisdom formed creation's chart 

Crowned thee the goddess of fair learning's shrine. 



THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 39 

And thy first impulse given unto man 

Was in blest Eden, God's own planted bower, 

When Adam craved thy skill, and formed the plan 
Of sewing jig leaves, in his erring hour. 

Since then what vast advances hast thou made, 
As time has winged his rapid course along ! 

What greatness and what triumph own thy aid ! 
And often hast thou graced the poet's song ! 

The gods have mused thy lovely wonders o'er, 
Ere mighty Greece and towering Athens rung 

With heathen fables, or with ancient lore, 
And praised the music of thy gifted tongue. 

Ere learning swelled the scientific page, 
And, like a sea, o'er lofty cities spread. 

Thou hadst walked forth on nature's glowing stage. 
And glory followed where thy movements led. 

Yes, ere Olympic ages sought to rule. 

Or empire greatness rose with strength unfurled, 
Thy power in nature's young and modest school 

Was destined to arouse, amaze the w^orld ! 

Bright were the flashings of thy beauteous eye, 
Dispelling gloom that hung o'er Egypt's plains; 

Before thy form did fabled darkness fly. 
And superstition burst her slavish chains. 

Thus, while Olympic greatness and renown 

Through empires spread, and walked the courts of 
kings, 

'Twas thou, fair goddess, ruling from thy throne, 
That scattered wisdom from thy classic wings ! 



40 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 

And taught the heroes in fame's early school 
The daring feats of chivalry and pride, 

And though the power of tyranny would rule, 
New elements of learning were supplied, 

Till valor bore the impress of thy sway, 

And dextrous freaks were but too proudly won, 

When the brave gladiator gained the day. 
Or to the earth a lifeless corse was thrown. 

And then what noisy shoutings, long and loud, 
Went up upon the hot and stifling air 

From the assembled, dark, admiring crowd, 
In vain applause to greet the dying ear ! 

For, Genius, thou hadst lent thy civic art. 
And led to combat frames with vigor strong ; 

Each gladiator practiced well his part. 

But then if vanquished, felt too deeply stung. 

And now we trace thee to the plains of war - 
Of Thessaly, or ancient Greece or Rome, 

Where loud was heard the eagle's screams afar, 
That told of bloody and of darkening doom ! 

Yes, Rome ! fair city of exalted might. 

Whom classic Greece had gladdened with its lore, 

Where virgin graces moved with sweet delight 
Among thy temples crowned with civic power. 

The wars of ages are a mournful theme 

Which bards have sung in rolling seasons past ; 

But thou, Rome ! was foremost in the scene 
Which hath a gloom upon thy history cast. 



THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. 41 

Thy fallen temples and thy mystic shrines 
Long crumbling in the dust of ages gone, 

Or ivy now each mouldering ruin twines 
With foliage rank, deserted and alone, — 

All tell a tale of solemn usage fled, 

When Grenius there reigned lofty and supreme, 
When deeds of valor crowned the victor's head. 

Who did with bright and noble honors teem. 

Loud from the Forum rang brave Cicero's voice, 

And Cato, or a Cesar in their turn, 
Or gentle Scipio, oft the people's choice. 

Whose spirits did with fearless ardor burn. 

But vain would be the effort now to trace 
Thy beamings mighty o'er the soul of men. 

For since the world hath known its power or place, 
Thyself hath wandered even now, as then. 

Save more revealed in beauty every hour. 

While keeping passage with the march of time. 

Letting thy glory, still incessant, lower 

In works and deeds with eloquence sublime. 

What though the age of Plutarch now is past. 
When Roman authors spent their classic lore, 

And orators of princely worth and caste — 
Have we not many — great as those before ? 

Greater than Dionysius or Polybius, sure. 

Or Ibid, and all others in their train. 
Have rose to fame with laurels won secure. 

And thousands more her lofty heights shall gain. 



42 HOPE. 

While thou, fair Genius, prompts the froward mind 
To grand results, from youth to silvered age, 

All arts, each science through thyself designed, 
Must roll advancing o'er life's fragile stage, — 

Until the wreck of worlds proclaim the end 
Of all things here of sublunary reign, 

When loud Jehovah's trump its warning sends, 
And calls this earth to chaos back again. 

If not too void, at least a form be given. 

Of holy origin and blissful joy, 
Created into one unchanging heaven, 

Eternity itself cannot destroy. 



-^^- 



HOPE. 

What generous thoughts persuasive rise 

Upon the throne of feeling. 
To throw soft light o'er reason's skies, 

The bliss of hope revealing ! 

E'en while misfortunes come apace, 
To shroud the soul in sadness, 

When Hope unveils her smiling face, 
Our spirits drink in gladness. 

The sunlight of her beauteous brow. 

All radiant with kindness. 
Comes beaming o'er this vale of woe. 

To cheer our moral blindness. 



HOPE. 43 

For often gloomy passions sway 

Our better traits of reason, *i. 

Yet soon can Hope's delightful ray 

Dispel the cloudy season. 

Thou art an angel surely sent 

To lift up hearts despairing, 
Too oft with disappointments rent 

That come with visage darino;. 

Yes, crushing in some fatal hour 
Each trusting dream we cherished, 

When thou, sweet Hope, with gentle power, 
Revives what nigh had perished. 

And thus it is, thou nymph divine, 

When sorrow veils our nature. 
If thy persuasive light but shine, 

Thou gladdenest every feature. 

Then ever let thy anchor rest, 

With heavenly luster beaming, 
Within my sad and stricken breast, 

While at thy altar kneeling. 

And should stern disappointments fall 

Around life's moments given. 
Do thou, 'mid time's rude changes all, 

Point ipe the path to heaven. 



44 TO THE OCEAN. 



TO THE OCEAN. 

Roll on, ye mighty billows, roll, 

Sublimely grand and free. 
Subject alone to God's control 

And heaven's immensity ! 

What nameless wonders lie concealed 

Beneath your voiceless bed, 
To lofty science unrevealed, 

Through countless ages fled 1 

Lo ! down beneath your foaming waves, 

Rich groves of coral grow. 
And mermaids sport through diamond caves 

With fair and beauteous brow. 

And there doth august silence reign, • 
Mid dreamless depths profound, 

While onward rolls the raging main, 
With wild and boisterous sound. 

Oh ! that the mind, by magic spell, 
Could walk that hidden sphere. 

What grand results it then might tell 
To wondering mortals here ! 

Perchance of music strangely sweet. 

Soft breaking on the ear. 
While glad and answering echoes meet 

Mid crystal caverns there ; 



TO THE OCEAN. 45 

Or bands of naiads fair and bright, 

Swift dancing from their cells, 
On pearly wings and tiptoe light, 

With wreaths and silver bells. 

Is there a world so grand unseen 

Beneath old ocean's span, 
That hath for countless ages been 

Still unrevealed to man ? 

'Tis even so. Those scenes sublime 

Are closed from mortal view ; 
Yet picture we God's works divine 

With fancy pure and true. 

And thus the mind is nobly taught : 

All grand creations prove 
The whole are by Jehovah wrought 

In wisdom, power, and love. 

Roll on then, mighty ocean, roll. 

Sublimely grand and free. 
Subject alone to God's control 

And heaven's immensity ! 



46 I WISH I WERE A KNIGHT. 



A BALLAD. 

I WISH I WERE A KNIGHT. 

I WISH I were a valiant knight 
In coat of burnished mail, 

With brazen helmet shining bright, 
And purse that would not fail ! 

And had a courser brave and good, 
"With trappings rich and gay; 

He should be of Arabian blood, 
And either black or gray. 

I then would hurry to the wars, 
And, by my bravery there. 

Gain golden honors and applause, 
To win some lady fair. 

She should be beautiful as bright, 
With spirit fond and free. 

Just worthy such a valiant knight 
As I would prove to be. 

I'd lay my honors at her feet, 
I'd kiss her snowy hand. 

And then a thousand vows repeat, 
Such as came at command. 

I'd tell her she was passing fair. 

And beautiful as true. 
As bright as heaven's morning star 

To my enraptured view. 



I WISn I WERE A KNIGHT. 4t 

And thus while bowing at her shrine 

With eloquence and pain, 
Would press the angel to be mine, 

Nor let me sue in vain. 

And if she gave one look of scorn, 

I'd swear by earth's decree, 
Or by my lofty helmet worn. 

Revenged I'd surely be. 

And calling romance to my aid, 

Thus baffled in desire, 
My gauntlet hand should not be stayed — 

I'd quench the maddening fire. 

At least I'd tell the pretty prude 

Who bound me thus in chains, 
If still I sadly, vainly sued, 

I would blow out my brains. 

And thus a deed of daring claim, 

Knight-errant vows to keep. 
Securing thus a valiant name. 

And make the damsel weep. 

But here my master comes, I see! 

Avaunt with princely dreams — 
I'm doomed a servant still to be. 

Or yet his groom, it seems ! 

But when I see his lofty air. 

His helmet plumed and bright. 
His polished mail and armor glare, — 

I wish I were a Knight ! 



48 THE MARINER. 



THE MARINER. 

The mariner looks on the rolling wave 
With a bosom that's bounding and true, 

And feels that many a sailor brave 
Lies hidden there — far from view. 

Yes, down in those sea-girt caves below, 

There slumbers the ocean child 
That struggled through many a hurricane blow 

When storms were raging wild. 

His bones lie bleaching far beneath, 

Enshrouded in sea-weeds green. 
And bind round his forehead the chaplet of death, 

As a tribute for what he had been. 

The roar of the deep and the sea-bird's scream 

Is the dirge o'er the mariner's grave ; 
While the diamond and pearls on his shroud may gleam, 

'Tis worthy the true and the brave. 

Sweet affection's kiss and the parting tear 

He shared, when he left his home, 
And fancied a moment of meeting bliss 

Would fall to the sailor's doom. 

But no ! the solemn, the sad farewell. 

That hung on his faithful ear, 
Proved but the deep, the withering knell. 

That he never again would appear. 



THE MARINER. 49 

That bark, which so often had battled the gale 

And weathered the howling storm, 
Was wrecked, to make known the maddening tale, 

While the waves covered over his form. 

No cowardly fear enthroned his breast 

When peril and danger were nigh ; 
He lived a hero, with true courage blest, 

Nor feared, like a hero, to die. 

Thoughts waken'd, tis true, in his manly heart, 

Those forms he worshiped so well. 
And he felt the gushing of warm tears start 

As he whispered his last farewell. 

But what was the blessing that buoyed him up 
When the figure of death brooded o'er him? 

It was the sweet treasure, the mariner's hope. 
That beamed in its beauty before him. 

To God the eternal, the spirit adored. 

He looked with an eye of devotion. 
And felt for their sakes his prayer would be heard, 

As he sank in the blue rolling ocean. 

The mariner's hope ! 'tis sweet to the soul. 
When the last ties of nature must sever ; 

He knows, though the mountain waves over him roll. 
His spirit will flourish forever ! 

And firm in his faith, he values it true. 
When the trump shall awaken the dead. 

He will rise up, with countless millions in view, 
From his silent and watery bed. 
5* 



50 THE FIRST WRONG. 

'Tis the hope of the Christian, on land or sea, 
That makes the soul fearless and brave, 

While it points to a world, ever jojous and free, 
Beyond the dim bounds of the grave. 



-^^- 



THE FIKST WRONG. 

When once the heart inclines to folly 
And shuns the voice of sacred truth, 

How soon it leads to acts unholy, 
To cloud the paths of lovely youth ! 

The first sad step will often cling 
Around the portals of the mind, 

And many a dark excuse will bring. 
That falsehood may a refuge find. 

But veil a lie oft as you will, 
Another follows in its train ; 

To hide the first you lie on still, 

Which sinks the soul in deeper pain. 

"To err is human," well we know; 

Yet brave are those, in age or youth, 
Who proudly scorn to stoop so low 

As love a lie before the truth. 



god's noblest work. 51 



GOD^S NOBLEST WORK. 

WHAT IS IT ? 

Is it the vast and roaring sea, 

With billows tossing mountains high, 

Or like a mirror, smooth and free, 
Reflecting bkck the clear blue sky? 

Is it creation, spreading wide. 
Unfolding all her chaste designs, 

Or hidden wealth on every side. 

Where many a mystic wonder reigns? 

What treasures vast, supremely grand. 
Lie deep beneath earth's surface fair ! 

New glories rise on every hand, 
Which God's eternal impress bear. 

Down, down, beneath the ocean waves. 
Far, far, concealed from human eye, 

What coral groves, what diamond caves. 
And pearls in rich profusion lie ! 

Mid dark eternal silence there, 

What voiceless millions crowd the deep ! 
What wonders populate that sphere. 

And seeming in oblivion sleep ! 

Unfathomed mystery enshrines 

The unveiled grandeur of the main, 

Lo ! there, what golden luster shines 
Beyond the power of man to gain! 



52 god's noblest work. 

And is it in the rolling deep, 

Where countless finny millions move, 

Where merry dolphins sport and leap, 
And'mermaids unmolested rove, 

That God's most noble work we trace. 
Mid depth and silence unrevealed ? 

Or through the wisdom of his grace. 
Is it o'er heaven's starry field. 

Where roving worlds of beauty bright. 
In endless luster gem the sky, 

Or in the sun's grand blaze of light, 
That mortals' sternest gaze defy ? 

Say, is it on this earthly sphere, 

Where mountain forests proudly grow, 

And fertile vales in bloom appear, 

And fruits and flowers transcendent glow ? 

Or while we scan creation o'er. 

And see her beauties chaste unfold. 

Whether along the pearl-strung shore 
Or in her treasured mines of gold, — 

Can we God's noblest work descry 
In these creations, grandly true. 

Where ceaseless wonders seem to vie 
In every charm that meets our view ? 

Nay, nay! 'Tis man He hath proclaimed 
The holiest of His great design ; 

'Tis man He in his wisdom named 
The mightiest here on earth to reign. 



god's noblest work. 53 

And all creation moves sublime, 
By God's all-wise revealed control, 

Save man, who trifles with his time. 
And with his sadly erring soul. 

The lovely seasons come in turn ; 

They bloom and early pass away, 
And day and night bid mortals learn 

They strict Jehovah's voice obey: 

The tulip, from its dusty bed. 

All painted springs to human view, 

Obedient to the voice that said — 

Bloom, beauteous floweret, and be true: 

The tempests and the storms reveal 
His grandeur, strength, and power; 

But to their bounds he sets His seal, 
That they no further lower: 

The winds and hurricanes that blow 
Are subject to His sovereign nod; — 

All earth obedient learns to know 

And fear, save stubborn man, his God ! 



54 ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 



ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 

EXTEMPORE. 

The old year now is going out, 

The new one coming in, 
And all things wear a change throughout 

This world of care and sin. 

Yet while we look upon the past. 
And scan those moments gone. 

Can conscience say we spent the last 
As Christians should have done ? 

Oh ! what a solemn thought is this 

To wake the dreaming mind. 
Since we the good so often miss 

And feel to err inclined ! 

What perils and what trials creep 

Across life's rugged way ! 
Some hearts through woe have waded deep, 

By folly led astray. 

And some have seen the glad'ning star 

Of peace and plenty rise 
O'er homes of love, and friends afar. 

And grown a year more wise. 

And some have gone, and silent sleep 

Beneath the voiceless sod ; 
While loving friends are left to weep, 

They're harping praise to God. 



ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 55 

And some — how horrible the thought ! — 

Have left this mortal sphere 
For worlds with endless sorrow fraught, 

To reign a demon there ! 

Oh ! God of sweet eternal might, 

We own thy potent power ; 
'Tis thou can set frail wanderers right. 

And bid them sin no more. 

Where'er our human steps hath erred. 

Throughout this parting year. 
Let now thy gentle voice be heard. 

And pardoning smile appear. 

Receive our thanks for gifts bestowed 

By thy indulgent hand ; 
We know all good from thee hath flow'd 

O'er our devoted land. 

Then guard us through the coming year. 

And through all future time ; 
Our fate, let no misfortunes sear, 

Or stain our souls with crime. 

Thus, when the final trump shall sound 

To wake the sleeping dead, 
We may among the blest be found. 

With thou, our fountain head. 



56 MY JESSAMINE VINE. 



MY JESSAMINE VINE. 

Dull winter has sped on its ice-covered wings, 
And spring draws apace, tho' young in her power, 

And scarcely revealed are the offerings she brings 
In woodland or valley, or garden-trained bower. 

Yet while in my chamber I musingly write 
An ode to her beauty, or magical shrine,* 

My sense of devotion is cheered by the sight 
Of my clustering evergreen jessamine vine. 

Ay, through the chill season of tempest and storm, 
When bleak came the winds from each northern hill, 

Above me it reared its bright, beautiful form. 
And proudly flourished and blossomed on still. 

Each day I have watched it with tenderest care. 
As sweet budding germs opened fresh to my view, 

And now its rich blossoms, so golden and rare. 

Fall round me like spangles all burnished and new. 



muse, 



And many's the sheet from the spotless quire. 
Spread out neath its branches to favor my i 

Or yet it may be my poetic desire 

Beneath it my sanctum of study to choose. 

But down came the beautiful petals apace. 

Like snowflakes, though painted, upon my white page, 

Or would gently hit me a tap in the face. 
To knock off a thought either witty or sage. 



THE HORRORS OP WAR 57 

Ay, many's the nervous and timorous start 
I've given in moments of musing profound, 

When naught of its presence swept over my heart, 
Till shaking its lovely blossoms around. 

And then, like a poor little terrified hare — 
I own it with shame — though no coward I be, 

Its touch hath nigh caused me to spring from my chair, 
And make a sad blot, ay, perhaps two or three. 

Yet, ah ! my sweet vine, thou art fair to behold ; 

On every germ Heaven's finger I view : 
It painted thy beautiful clusters of gold, 

And tells me that naught but the Author is true. 



^^- 



THE HORRORS OF WAR. 

The loud din of battle was heard 
Booming over the plains of the West, 

And many a patriot stirred 
With valor the truest and best. 

At the sound of the tap of the drum 

And the clarion's echoing call 
*^hey rush, while each note bids them come 

To victory's triumph or fall. 

With spirits exulting and brave. 
They rouse at the martial appeal, 

Their country and freedom to save, 
And a soldier's privations to feel. 
6 



58 THE HORRORS OF WAR. 

Ah, yes ! while the war dogs afar 

Howl over the Mexican plains, 
They fly to the dangers of war 

With the proudest of blood in their veins. 

Shall we tell of the tears that were shed. 
Of the sighs that are painfully breathed 

O'er the wounded, the lost, and the dead, 
By parents and kindred bereaved? 

Oh, no ! let us draw a dark veil 

Over ruins so mournfully sad ; 
Let us hide from the horrible tale, 

Lest pity and reason go mad. 

Yet, no ! 'tis best to be told, 

Tho' we shrink from the death booming knell, 
Those hearts were the brave and the bold 

That soon on the battle-field fell. 

How many through valor and zeal 
Left all that was dear to their life, 

The direst anguish to feel, 
A mother, a sister, a wife; 

A father, a brother, a friend. 

Or children so loving and pure, 
Their country's call to attend. 

And the horrors of war to endure ! 

"To conquer or die" was their theme: 
They hung on the motto with pride ; 

Some lived through the terrible scene. 
Some breathed it and valiantly died. 



THE HORRORS OF WAR. 59 

And some were a desolate band ; 

No parents or kindred had thej 
To clasp them with love bj the hand, 

Or friendship's devotions to pay. 

Yet bravely they fought on the field 
Where carnage her horrors displayed, 

And died too, before they would yield. 
Or suffer their honor to fade. 

What though not a bosom survives, 

One tear of regret to bestow ; 
There's a Power above never dies. 

That will watch o'er His creatures below ! 

And those who have valiantly won 

The evergreen laurels of fame. 
Whether father, a brother, or son, 

He will blazon with triumph their name. 

A spot and a home for the dead 

Is reserved for the good and the true, 

High over their gory-stained bed. 
With eternity's glories in view ! 



STANZAS. 



STANZAS. 

EXTEMPORE. 

Comb, welcome, bright and rosy dream, 
That pencils fairy, laughing hours. 

When joys fell o'er life's sunlit stream, 
To waken naught but gladdening powers 

Yea, moments past, forever gone, 
Yet left their lingering glow remain 

In living hues, on memory drawn. 
To call their beauty back again. 

Yes, phantoms flash before the mind 
To prompt the light, unconscious smile, 

As dreamy thoughts admittance find, 
And venturous round our senses coil. 

But then too soon the spell is broken. 
The happy vision fades away, 

As though by some vile, envious token, 
To cloud in night our joyous day. 

The ghost of saddened changes bring 
To mind a deep and painful gloom, 

For mournful sorrows leave a sting 
Which oft attends us to the tomb. 



ODE TO DAY. 61 



ODE TO DAY. 



The orient blush of day behold, 
Lit up with beauteous blue and gold, 

Aurora mounts the skies : 
High o'er imperial fields of space, 
In all his majesty and grace, 

Sol's golden chariot flies. 

See! rolling clouds of silver meet 
And gather round his glittering feet 

And form a liquid throne; 
Yet on he still directs his speed, 
Until he runs his course decreed, 

Or seeming scans earth's zone. 

All hail, sweet day ! thy cheering light 
Throws off the dusky bars of night. 

That shroud a dreamy world ! 
And grand art thou, and glorious too. 
When thy bright robes of gold and blue 

O'er nature is unfurled. 

Dash on, thou august, beauteous mien, 
While summer genial and serene 

Now courts thy generous rays; 
And other seasons, as they roll. 
Must claim thy light from pole to pole, 

Till time shall quench thy blaze. 

6* 



62 'tis even sol 



^TISEVEN SO! 



Happy, happy is the heart 
That knows no brooding ill, 

That every moment acts its part 
By Heaven's approving will. 

When every season as it flies 
Brings joy and inward peace, 

Lifting us upward to the skies 
As righteous hours increase. 

'Tis then that sweet creations wear 
A thousand glowing charms, 

As onward rolls each fleeting year 
Bereft of sin's alarms. 

But, ah ! when mortals erring prove, 
To please the wayward mind. 

They forfeit Heaven's eternal love. 
And sweet protection kind. 

Yet ever pitying, loving, true. 
He guards each passing hour, 

Where'er our wandering steps pursue, 
Exposed to Satan's power. 

And oft mid danger and despair 
His precious arm is thrown 

Around our thoughtless moments here. 
And saves us as His own. 



THE slave's complaint. 63 

Alas ! that mortals should profane 

The trusting love of Heaven, 
By sinning o'er and o'er again, 

Though countless times forgiven. 

But thus the wayward spirit strives 

Against its lofty God ; 
It still in stern rebellion lives, 

Nor fears his chastening rod. 

Forgive us, sweet Omnipotence, 

Nor hide thy angel face ; 
Let love enshrine our every sense, 

Renewed in every grace; 

That when the dream of life is past. 

Our ransomed spirits, free. 
May reach that heavenly bourn at last 

To live and dwell with Thee. 



THE SLAVE'S COMPLAINT. 

'Tis the voice of the slave, as he folds on his breast 

His hands, in devotion and prayer; 
His eyes on the heavens now tearfully rest. 

And his visage is stamped w^ith despair. 

"How precious is freedom!" he mournfully cries; 

" Its pleasures unfettered and kind ; 
While no master the flesh-scourging lash e'er applied. 

And no galling chains fetter the mind. 



64 THE slave's complaint. 

^' These manacles sadly ring on my ear, 
I shrink from their dull, clanging tones ; 

While the weight of these chains my poor body tear, 
And my feet burst and bleed on the stones. 

"Alas ! it was not always thus my sad fate, 

For once I was joyous and free; 
With kindred and friends my bliss was replete. 

And my little ones sat on my knee. 

" My loved Izabada, sweet wife of my heart, 

And three darling children were mine, 
But the traffic man came and tore us apart. 

And doomed us in slavery to pine. 

*'But where is that wife, those children so dear ? 

Oh God ! they asunder are torn ! 
They are far, far away, no more to appear, 

And I live thus their loss still to mourn. 

"Yes, loved Izabada! no more shall I see 

Thy soul-speaking smile, or hear thy sweet voice 

That once was so joyous, so happy, and free. 
That thy own Zoriamba was prone to rejoice. 

" Our dear little children, how smiling they grew ! 

With what rapture their arms around me they flung ! 
'Twas then all my hours on glad pinions flew, 

Nor a pang of rude sorrow my poor bosom wrung. 

"And oh ! I remember our vine-bowered cot. 
Overhung by the mango and tall waving palm ; 

What bliss and contentment then sweetened our lot. 
While lovingly basking in sunshine and calm ! 



THE slave's complaint. 65 

" But, alas ! for the changes that came o'er our fate 
When the blood-thirsty kidnapper tore us apart, 

Set fire to our hut, when, through scourging and hate, 
We felt the thonged lash striking deep in our heart ! 

" But hushed was the wail of our piteous grief. 

For the gag pressed so painfully on our poor tongue 

That death would have proved a most welcome relief. 
Had then our hearts bursted, so bleedingly wrung ! 

"Adieu, Izabada, adieu evermore ! 

Farewell my sweet innocents, God be your friend ! 
Though you dwell far away on some foreign bound shore, 

May his mercy and blessings upon you descend. 

" Though your fate is shut out from my agonized view, 
Perhaps you now writhe under torture and pain 

From some hard-hearted master, whose voice and lash 
too. 
But serve you more cruel the more you complain. 

" Oh, God ! give me patience my pangs to endure. 
For memory galls me e'en more than my chains, 

And renders my wretchedness far more secure. 

While the proud blood of Africa flows in ray veins I 

" Yet here must I toil 'neath the hot, burning sun. 
Far out of the reach of humanity's voice ; 

E'en when my laborious day's work is done, 
I have nothing but misery left to my choice. 

^' For if I could please but the lord of the soil. 

While the sweat drops of anguish start cold from my 
brow, 

I would willingly suffer through torment and toil. 
If pleasure I could to my master bestow. 



66 THE slave's complaint. 

" But, oh ! may that power which tempers the storm, 

Yet soften his bosom so callous, severe. 
And the light of the Gospel reveal in its form, 

The duty we owe to humanity here. 

"But see ! there's a vessel approaching the shore, 
Her white snowy sails they flap in the air ; 

A female I see, with three children or more. 
And if I mistake not my master is there ! 

" 'Tis strange, passing strange ! my heart beats aloud ! 

My brain, sure, is burning — ah ! what do I see ? 
It is Izabada I view in the crowd, 

And my three darling children returning to me !" 

They now spring on land with tear-streaming eyes, 
Led forth by the master once cruel and vain. 

While the heart-piercing screams of their happy sur- 
prise 
Were sufficient to burst every bosom in twain. 

"And now, Zoriamba, list, list ! while I speak," 

Said the soul-stricken master, and knocked off his 
chains. 

While a tear of contrition hung on his brown cheek; 
" Thou art no more a slave here to toil on these plains. 

" Thy prayer hath gone up where the angels reside, 
And often I've listened when thou wert alone. 

Or thought that none other had heard thee beside, 
Yet thy pleadings hath softened this bosom of stone. 

" Yes, Abraham's God hath taught me to feel 
The holding of creatures in bondage a crime, 

And did by the light of the Gospel reveal 
The beauty of mercy and glory divine ! 



THE slave's complaint. 6t 

" I then, with exertions unceasing and true, 

Endeavored to find on a tropical coast 
Your wife and your children, and bring them to you. 

When you thought in your soul they forever were lost. 

'' I traced them, and bought them with treasures of gold, 
And now I restore them with blessings sincere; 

You may live many years, sunny joys to behold, 
And never have cause for a sigh or a tear. 

"Yon hut that you see by the side of the hill. 

Fenced in by a garden of shrubs and sweet flowers, 

I give you, as I have bequeathed in my will ; 

Go there now and live while a lifetime is yours." 

And who shall attempt now to picture the scene 
That followed this Christian devotion of soul ? 

Too seldom a sight of such greatness is seen. 
Where blessings were mingled with holy control ! 

And now do you think, dearest reader of mine. 

That all the bright treasures that glow on this earth 

Would have purchased those feelings so sweetly divine, 
Which the thoughts of his merciful actions gave 
birth ? 

Ah, no ! if the mines of Golconda had spread 
Before him the wealth of its diamonds so rare, 

Or a crown had been offered to blazon his head, 

They could with these dearest of blessings compare. 

Thus nothing on earth could afford the delight 
The kind-hearted master now felt in his breast ; 

He knew he had acted a part that was right, 
And God in his mercy his efforts had blest. 



68 THE INFANT QUERIST. 

Around him they knelt, in a passion of joy, 
Each breathing a prayer of devotion and love ; 

'Twas a scene neither ages nor time can destroy, 
For angels recorded the moment above ! 



THE INFANT QUERIST. 

" Dear father," said a beauteous boy, 

Who was the parents' pride and joy, 
'' You often have assured me 

That all the wonders that abound 

Above, below, and all around, 

Are formed — no matter where they're found- 
By God, the Deity ! 

" You say from Him all blessings flow 
To all his creatures here below; 

That He is good and kind, 
And ever lends a pitying ear 
To his afflicted children here : 
If it is so, my father dear, 

Why is it you are blind ? 

" For often I have heard you pray, 
When on our knees, both night and day, 

That He would give you light ! 
Nor let unceasing darkness rise 
Before your weary, sightless eyes : 
Can it be pitying, good, and wise 

To seal you thus in night ? 



THE INFANT QUERIST. 69 

"And mother too ! is she not lame, 
Who ever calls upon His name 

So lovingly and true ? 
It seems so very strange to me, 
If God can all our sufferings see 
And can relieve, how is it He 

Has thus afflicted you?" 

" Hold, hold ! my son !" the father said, 
Patting him gently on the head, 

" The Lord is good and kind ! 
Thou art almost too young to know 
What vast, what wond'rous blessings flow 
Upon this thankless world of woe, — 

'Tis best that I am blind ! 

*'And didst thou think, my precious child," 
And as he spoke he sweetly smiled, 

" I asked for earthly sight ? 
No, no, my son ! thy father prayed, 
To have his moral blindness stayed, 
And be a perfect Christian made 

In all that's pure and right. 

" Had not the Lord affliction sent 
Upon my mind of discontent. 

To humble sinful pride ; 
Ere now my heart had stubborn grown, 
Becoming far more hard than stone. 
Profaning God's eternal throne, 

And unredeemed have died. 
1 



TO SPRING. 

"And now, mj boy, remember this, 
That God can never act amiss 

In all afflictions given ; 
The burden of our trials here, 
Though they may be indeed severe. 
Are but intended to endear 

Our hearts to Him and heaven !" 



-^^- 



SPRING. 

Spring has opened with her flowers, in her mild and 

sweet array. 
Decking woodland, hill, and bowers with her colors rich 

and gay; 
And music sweet and swelling is borne upon the air, 
All smiling nature telling — 'tis a charming time of year. 

The pretty birds are winging their way through wood 
and grove. 

Their merry anthems singing of blissful joy and love ; 

The shepherd's pipe is sounding o'er mountain, vale, and 
hill. 

While sporting lambs are bounding beside the murmur- 
ing rill. 

Yes, joyous looks all nature in its robes of beauty rare 
While every glowing feature shows the hand of God is 

there ; 
From the blossom in the bower to the tree of lofty pine. 
We can see his heavenly power as in all things else di- 
vine! 



SUMMER. 71 

Then welcom?, lovely Spring, in thy rosy mild array, 
Still thy budding treasures bring though they soon must 

pass away ; 
A moral in thy mien the noble heart can find, 
For a lesson there is seen to improve the musing mind. 

The spring of glowing youth, like the season, must de- 
part. 
Then well it is, forsooth, if religion fills the heart, 
That, like the fading flower of rich and sweet perfume, 
We may triumph o'er death's power, and bloom beyond 
the tomb. 



SUMMER. 



The fervid beams of summer heat 

Oppressive fall around. 
And herbage gay and flowerets sweet 

Lie drooping on the ground. 

The cattle seek the cooling shade 

Beside the woody hill. 
The sheep lie bleating in the glade 

Or by the murmuring rill. 

The fields are ripe with golden grain. 
Abundance crowns the soil ; 

The farmer proudly views his gain, 
Sweet offerings for his toil. 

He bears the burden of the day 
Through sultry hours and long. 

And tosses up the new-mown hay 
With light, exulting song. 



72 AUTUMN. 

And when he marks the sinking sun . 

Glide down the western dome, 
He joyful views his labor done 

And seeks his cottage home. 

What happy smiles come circling round 
To greet his weary breast ! 

'Tis bliss, he feels, to there be found 
And e'er be thus caressed ! 

The rural joys of home, how sweet, 
Mid sunny hills and dales. 

Where hearts in glad contentment meet 
And peace and love prevails ! 



^^— 



AUTUMN. 

The autumn leaf, the dingy bough. 

Proclaim the summer past ; 
And lonely flowers that linger now, 

Their bloom is fading fast. 

The woodland heights in gay attire 

Show many a gorgeous hue 
For moral fancy to admire. 

And speak instruction too. 

A gloom hangs o'er the pensive grove, 

So late the scene of song. 
Where birds attuned their hearts to love 

In many a joyous throng. 



AUTUMN. 73 

No more the hedges, robed in green, 

Enriched with summer flowers, 
Are round the smiling farmhouse seen, 

And stript are rosy bowers. 

The tresseled vine, that proudly grew 

To shade the cottage door. 
Or peep the humble lattice through, 

Is seen to bloom no more. 

Yes, Autumn's chill and biting breath 
Hath fanned them near and far ; 

They wear the impress now of death. 
To mark the changing year. 

A moral this for one and all : 

Life has its seasons too — 
We like these vernal beauties fall, 

And fade from human view. 

Like them, beneath God's heavenly sun 

Again expand and bloom, 
When time shall tell our course is run, 

And points us to the tomb. 

When basking in the Saviour's smile. 
With peace through faults forgiven, 

He welcomes us through all our toil 
To live anew in heaven. 

Blest immortality divine ! 

The Christian's guiding ray ; 
What sweet, unfading joys are thine, 

Which ope to endless day ! 



74 WINTER. 



WINTER, 

Winter, winter ! cold and drear ! 
Well we know when thou art here ; 
Yes, we know thy lonely wail. 
Mid descending snow and hail ; 
Far from many a northern hill 
We hear thy voice, bleak and shrill, 
Rushing over wood and vale 
In thy icy coat of mail. 
While thy blighting, frigid breath, 
Vernal beauties clasp in death ! 

Bound by many an icy chain 
Is each lovely grove and plain ; 
Murmuring rills and fountains clear 
Wear thy fetters far and near ; 
Mountain, forest, hill, and dale 
Swept are now, by many a gale : • 
Nature owns thy potent sway. 
Bearing thus its charms away. 

Winter, winter! bleak and cold, 
Thou art gloomy to behold ! 
Though in sparkling crystals drest, 
Bright as gems on beauty's breast, 
Still thy frigid breath and touch 
Many creatures dreadeth much; 
Yea, the wretched, lone, and poor 
Fain would keep thee from their door. 



LOVE DITTY. lb 

While their shivering bosoms pant, 
Pressed with hunger, pain, and want, 
Vainly from thy breath they shrink, 
Creeping through each crack and chink. 
Sadly listening to thy wail, 
Like some spirit's mournful tale. 
Then in wild and boisterous strain ; 
Again they list, and yet again. 
To thy solemn pgeans loud, 
Rushing from the stormy cloud. 

Oh ! what anguish fills each breast 

Of the wretched and distressed. 

When thy blighting presence brings 

Want and trials on thy wings ! 

Well may then the needy pray 

For thy reign to pass away. 

Since it would be happy cheer 

If summer lasted all the year. 

Then speed thee, Winter, with thy train ; 

Hasten, lovely Spring, again ! 



-^^ — 



LOYE DITTY. 

Can I love's rosy dreams forget. 
Those hours of hope and pleasure. 

Where first my cottage youth I met. 
My bosom's only treasure? 



76 THE ROBBER. 

But now he's gone far, far away, 
Mj brave and youthful ranger; 

Sweet Heaven guide him back, I pray, 
And shield his heart from danger. 

Still holy memory brings thee near, 
So kind, so open-hearted ; 

I see that smile and falling tear, 
As in the hour we parted. 

And like soft music's plaintive knell, 
Its pathos sad revealing, 

I think I hear thy sweet farewell 
Yet o'er my bosom stealing. 

Thus shall affection fond and free, 
No power on earth can sever, 

With many a blessing follow thee, 
My own true love, forever ! 



-^^ 



THE ROBBER. 

A TALE OF TRUTH. 

*' The moon, I see, is rising fast, 
She's peeping o'er the hill, 

Yet not one traveling soul has past ; 
The road seems calm and still ! 

" It must be near the midnight hour, 

And here I linger yet ; 
I've mused the deed of darkness o'er, 

But still no wanderer met. 



THE ROBBER. Yt 

*'01i, hunger! thou voracious worm, 

What guilt wilt thou not bring, 
If thou but once the vitals storm 

And nature feels thy sting ? 

" IIow have I tried from day to day 

To gain a scanty store 
Of bread, our hungry mouths to stay. 

And keep woe from our door ? 

*' I never cared how hard the task, 

E'en 'neath a burning sun, 
Nor never was too proud to ask 

For more when that was done. 

" But though I toiled through snow and rain, 

Beat by the pelting blast, 
Our humble daily bread to gain. 

They suffer want at last. 

" It is not for myself I care, 

For little I deserve ; 
But you, my wife, and children dear, 

I cannot see you starve. 

" Here winter pours its northern breath 

Around our lonely cot ; 
And now to see you starve to death, 

God knows that I cannot ! 

" Bread must be had, come as it will ; 

Your precious hearts shall live, 
E'en though I stoop to rob and kill, 

Oh, God ! forgive, forgive ! 



T8 THE ROBBER. 

*'Ali, hunger! thou poor meager worm, 
Couldst thou not spare a licart 

Who never done a creature harm 
Or played a criminal part ? 

" But now, oppressed by grief and pain, 

One effort more I make ; 
Food my poor children must obtain, 

Though I some life should take. 

" How shall I harden now my soul 

To do so dark a deed ? 
I scorn an act so meanly foul — • 

To what will hunger lead 1 

" Then come some devil to my aid 
And harden now my heart. 

Nerve up my hand — it seems afraid 
To act the robber's part ! 

" Ha ! what's that ? 'Tis but a leaf 
Just twirling from the bough ! 

I start, alas ! with nervous grief, 
So fearful am I now ! 

" If but a squirrel leaves its lair, 

I turn aside with fright ; 
And yet no coward's name I bear — 

In courage I delight ! 

"And yet, a coward^ here I stand. 
With guilty, dark design ; 

If but some traveler was at hand, 
His money should be mine ! 



THE ROBBER. t9 

" His life I do not wish to take — 

His gold is all I want — 
And that for those dear beings' sake 

Who now in misery pant. 

" But here I've waited many an hour, 

Starting with grief and fear ; 
Dark clouds begin to threatening lower, 

Yet not one soul is near. 

"Now while I muse upon the fate 

Of those I dearly love, 
Who now my presence anxious wait, 

I almost savage prove. 

" Then come some devil to my aid. 

Nerve up my heart and hand. 
Let want and hunger now be stayed. 

The means I must command ! 

" Here comes a traveler, now, at last ; 

He rides a noble steed ; 
The time to question now is past, 

I hasten to the deed." 

Now darting from the forest shade 

Into the open road, 
Again one hasty spring he made. 

And by the traveler stood ; 

He seized the reins with trembling hand. 

And, in a threatening voice, 
Loud bid the lonely wanderer stand 

And give his gold of choice. 



80 THE ROBBER, 

"Your money, sir, I now must have ; 

Deliver it, I pray ; 
If now you wish your life to save, 

Refuse not to obey!" 

He then the loaded pistol raised, 
And pointed to his breast 

The muzzle, which the traveler seized, 
And thus the thief addressed: 

" Be it for murder or for gold 
You thus my life would seek ? 

For both before you now behold: 
Speak quickly, robber, speak ! 

*'If gold you want, and that alone, 
Here, take my purse, and go ; 

If for your guilt it would atone. 
It freely I'll bestow ! 

*'Thou seemest, though, so over-bold— 
Why tremblest thus with fear? 

Do I mistake if I behold 
One new in this career? 

"I see thy pale and haggard cheek 
Looks touched with grief and care, 

Yet out a night so cold and bleak — 
Say, what hath brought thee here ? 

"It cannot be my life to take — 

No enemy thou art; 
And if my gold less want can make, 

Take it with all my heart ! 



THE ROBBER. 81 

" I'm traveling in this lonely wood 

To find a brother dear ; 
His cottage, I have understood, 

Cannot be far from here. 

"I should have been there hours ago, 

But then I lost my way ; 
Besides, the road I do not know, 

Since through this wood it lay ! 

" The moon has hid her welcome light, 

And not one ray appears 
To cheer the lonely wanderer's sight 

Or check his rising fears ! 

" But darkness hovers all around, 
Thick clouds o'erspread the sky ; 

The wind, too, moans with solemn sound — 
A storm is drawing nigh ! 

" Then tell me, stranger, who thou art, 

And lead me to thy home ; 
I will reward the kindly part: 

'Tis now too late to roam. 

" Or point me to some friendly shed 

Where I may shelter gain. 
And have myself and charger fed. 

Secure from wind and rain ! 

"Keep thou the gold thou hast in hand; 

To that I will add more. 
If thou comply with my demand. 

And show some friendly door !" 
8 



THE ROBBER. 

"Alas ! dear sir, you seem so kind, 

So generous and so free, 
Although to rob you I designed, 

I pray you pardon me ! 

" 'Twas want, yes, haggard want alone, 

A starving family near, 
That almost turned my heart to stone 

And brought me madly here ! 

" I once was gentle, true, and brave, 

Could honest virtues boast ; 
But fate a bitter wound hath gave, 

And I am almost lost 1 

" The hand of penury and grief 
Spread terror round my home; 

I was resolved to find relief 
And shun a fearful doom. 

" My children dear, my angel wife. 

Are starving day by day ; 
I love them better than my life, ' 

So good, so kind are they ! 

"But thus to see them wanting bread 

When I have none to give, 
With haggard misery round them spread, 

Nor can they longer live ! 

" I gladly toil from morn till night 

When work I get to do, 
And often, sir, till broad daylight 

Breaks on my weary view I 



THE ROBBER. 83 

"But, oh! mj God! stern sickness came; 

For months my wife was ill: 
Then my sweet children took the same, 

And all are feeble still, 

^^ No work, dear stranger, far nor near. 

My willing hands could find; 
Since winter hath set in severe, 

We're thus to woe consigned ! 

" But let the gods my witness prove, 

My first attempt you've seen ; 
'Twas naught but poverty that drove 

Me thus to act so mean ! 

^^But, sir, your noble conduct now 
Hath plunged my soul in shame ; 

This money that you now bestow, 
I keep it in God's name, 

" Few kindred, sir, I have on earth, 

I lonely here remain, 
Save one dear brother, twin by birth, 

I ne'er may see again. 

^' Ten years ago he went away 

To some far distant land, 
And often have I mourned the day 

We gave the parting hand! 

** Dear youth ! he was so noble, brave! 

Few hearts were like his own. 
For what he had he freely gave 

Where poverty was known. 



84 THE ROBBER. 

"And if he knew our solemn fate, 

And of this manless deed, 
The miseries too that round us wait, 

His generous heart would bleed. 

" But then 'tis well he should not learn; 

Some change I trust to see 
In my poor fate ere his return, 

If that should ever be ! 

"But come, kind sir, I now will lead 

You to our humble cot, 
Yet thou wilt find it poor indeed, 

Since misery is our lot ! 

" Though clean and neat, we can supply 
From this thy friendly gold 

Those blessings money e'er can buy, 
Where'er they may be sold." 

" Lead on, my friend ! point out the way ; 

Thy tale hath pained my heart ; 
I'll soon thy suffering wants allay, 

And bless thee ere we part ! 

"Tis passing strange we thus have met! 

Veiled blessings oft descend; 
Thy kindness I shall not forget, 

And thou hast found a friend ! 

" I have a brother somewhere near. 

As I have understood ; 
We have not met for many a year; 

He lives beyond this wood ! 



THE ROBBER. 86 

"They say he leads a farmer's life, 

And owns a pleasant seat; 
He has five children and a wife, 

With all things round complete. 

" But this I heard long, long ago, 

Through means I can't define ; 
And yet from him, too well I know, 

I've ne'er received one line ! 

" When I forsook my native land 

To rove the ocean o'er, 
I took a vessel in command 

And sailed from shore to shore. 

" I settled in fair India's clime, 

And prospered in my toil ; 
Sweet pleasure crowned the march of time. 

And riches, too, the soil. 

" Years flew apace; I married well, 

A damsel young and fair ; 
Her gentle heart none could excel — 

We lived a happy pair. 

" But death approached with chilly hand 

And tore her from my view, 
I then resolved to see the land 

Where my first breath I drew. 

"I wrote — yes, o'er and o'er again — 

To him, my brother dear ; 
Yet all my efi'orts proved in vain, 

I could no tidings hear, 
8* 



86 THE ROBBER. 

"At last a thousand doubts arose 

Upon mj troubled brain, 
Such as the force of memory throws, 

Lest we'd ne'er meet again. 

" I fancied oft mj brother dead, 

Perhaps in want or woe, 
And was resolved once more to tread 

This land — to learn and know ! 

" Then, generous stranger, tell me where 
His homestead I may find; 

For even now I should be there 
To calm my anxious mind ! 

" His name is Robert Emlin, sir — 
Why start and turn so pale ? 

His rustic home, I should infer, 
Is somewhere in this vale." 

" Robert Emlin is my name ; 

Thou dost that brother see ; 
I am, oh, yes ! I am the same — 

A wretch behold in me ! 

*^ Oh ! spurn me not ! forgive, forgive ! 

I sought thy life to slay : 
How can I think of this and live ? 

Forgive me, James, I pray! 

" Tis far too painful to be told, 

At thy return to me. 
Thou should'st a robber thus behold 

Who aimed to murder thee !" 



THE ROBBER. Si 

" Hold ! hold ! dear brother, speak no more ; 

'Twas misery urged the deed; 
That painful venture now is o'er — 

Let want thy causes plead ! 

" Wert thou a stranger, rash and bold, 

And asked me to forgive. 
Could I my pardoning voice withhold. 

Nor wish thee, blest, to live ? 

" Nay ! nay ! then come, my brother dear, 

To this my throbbing breast ; 
Let all our sadness disappear ; 

Set now thy heart at rest. 

" Thou art no robber ! that vile name 

Thy fate shall never stain ; 
My soul relieves thee from all blame ; 

Thou art thyself again ! 

" Thy kind, that penitent appeal, 

Hath more than all repaid ; 
My bosom would be more than steel 

If it could dare upbraid ! 

" No ! nol that was no murderous hand 

Raised at my heart this night ! 
Why didst thou thus so trembling stand. 

If urged through guilt outright ? 

" Thy tender nature shrunk within. 
Thy face turned wan and pale ; 

*Tis haggard want must bear the sin ; 
I saw thy courage fail ! 



88 THE ROBBER. 

" If I had e'en withheld my gold, 
And thou hadst gone to strife, 

Thou couldst have never been so bold 
As then to take my life ! 

" Thy mad'ning rush, thy frenzied air, 

Told desperation's aid ; 
I saw that wild, unearthly stare ; 

'Twas it my anger stayed ! 

"But something warned my hasty zeal, 

And bid me have no fear. 
E'en when I saw the murderous steel 

Close to my breast appear. 

"It was the shielding will of Heaven, 

To guard by its decree, 
Or, as I hope to be forgiven, 

I should have murdered thee ! 

" For I was armed : my holsters bore 

Two pistols safely primed; 
A dirk within my belt I wore. 

To use when thought well timed ! 

" So that thy life was at my will, 

If I but choose to slay. 
For either had a right to kill 

In self-defense's way. 

"But if my anger had now led 

To such a fatal scene, 
I should have thought, while memory bled, 

Thy murderer I had been ! 



THE ROBBER. 89 

" So both have thus in peril stood, 

Beneath God's shielding care ; 
Neither hath seen his brother's blood, 

Nor hath the sin to bear. 

" Then come once more to my fond arms, 

Thou brother lost so long; 
We'll think not of our wild alarms ; 

Let rapture be our song ! 

" Lead on ! lead on to thy rude home ; 

Why tarry here or stay? 
Thou little knowest the joys to come, 

What blessings strew thy way. 

" The pangs of poverty are o'er ; 

My wealth is vast and great; 
Thy heart shall share my golden store, 

With happiness complete ! 

" It was for this I sought thy cot. 

In case that thou wert poor, 
To bless, without delay, thy lot, 

Bring gladness to thy door." 

But who can now portray the scene 

That night of bliss bestowed 
Within that cottage, thatched and mean, 

Of all the tears that flowed ? 

Of all the blessings then that fell, 
Or prayers that then went round? 

Not all the bards on earth can tell, 
Or paint that rapture found. 



90 STANZAS. 

And years, since then, have rolled away 
'Neath time's consuming urn ; 

Yet ever have they blessed the day 
That brother did return. 



STANZAS. 

How beauteous is the summer flower, 

Just opening to the day, 
Still moistened by the gentle shower 

That hangs on every spray ! 

How chaste the early morning's beam, 

Just bursting o'er the sky. 
When sunlight glory decks the scene 

With many a golden dye ! 

And lovely is the tuneful bird 
That chaunts its cheerful song, 

When soft and clear its notes are heard 
The vernal bowers among. 

And then 'tis sweet at eventide. 

When dusty shadows throw 
Their lurid beauty far and wide 

O'er nature's vale below. 

Yet sweeter, and more chaste by far, 

Is that devoted hour 
When many a bright and beaming star 

The heavens bespangle o'er ! 



THE bachelor's LAMENT. 91 

When soft and fair the crescent moon 

Throws out her silver light, 
More beauteous than the blaze of noon, 

To crown the hours of night. 

Yes, gentle empress, while I view 

Thee sailing far above 
In that pure, hallowed vault of blue, 

It wakes mj heart to love ! 

For something in thy visage seems 

So stainless and so true, 
That memory turns to holy dreams 

I fain would oft renew. 

Yea, thoughts that chasten ; yet how kind 

They scan the spirit's throne, 
And teach the soul to bear in mind 

The Lord is God alone ! 



-^^- 



THE BACHELOR'S LAMENT. 

Now fifty years old ! 'Tis horrid to think, 

A bachelor yet I remain ! 
And marriage, how often I've been on the brink, 

But as yet not a wife could I gain ! 

I've traveled the world, in my days, nearly round, 

Seen beauty in every clime ; 
But the girl of my bosom is yet to be found, 

If a wife is to ever be mine ! 



92 THE bachelor's lament. 

A fortune and more, yea, two, have I spent, 

To please all the treacherous fair ; 
And as for obliging, the further I went, 

The more I was led in the snare ! 

So cautious and kind each beauty would seem 
When attentions polite I bestowed, 

That life, for a season, passed on like a dream. 
While with it my money too flowed. 

While staying in Paris, 'mid scenes of gay life, 

A pretty French damsel I met ; 
I strove might and main to make her my wife — 

But the prude I shall never forget. 

She feigned to return my ardor sincere, 
And promised to give me her hand. 

Then away to the chapel we sought to repair, 
To join the connubial band. 

As soon as we got to the door of the priest. 

She bid me a pleasant good-night. 
And told me she only was joking the least, 

By the way of a little delight. 

I felt rather mean, but rather more mad. 

And back to my chamber I flew, 
Resolved not one moment to make myself sad. 

And to blot her from memory's view. 

But somehow or other, the treacherous prude 
Had made a deep wound in my heart ; 

For days and long nights her ghost would intrude. 
As I mused o'er her whimsical art. 



THE bachelor's LAMENT. 

And I thought in mj soul what a Stoic I'd live 

From that most detestable hour, 
That women so fickle I ne'er would forgive, 

And be caught in their meshes no more. 

I ordered my baggage, got into a hack. 

My journey once more to pursue. 
Determined that Paris should ne'er see me back, 

And bid merry France then adieu. 

I hastened to Germany, thinking that there 

The changes of scenery and sight. 
With being among that clime's blooming fair, 

Would bring me once more nearly right. 

But, luckless forever ! a beautiful maid. 

With eyes of celestial blue, 
Once more my most holy affections betrayed. 

And strove my poor heart to undo ! 

But soon as I found how matters would be. 
For the prude had two strings to her bow ; 

If she could not get him, she thought to take me, 
And thus her sad cruelty show. 

So I left them, and also brave Germany's coast, 

To travel the Indias o'er. 
Well pleased while on the ocean rude tost, 

I could boast of my freedom once more. 

And now I resolved, in the truth of my soul. 

Where'er I might tarry or stay, 
A woman no more my heart should control, 

Though I lived to be fifty times gray. 
9 



94 THE bachelor's lament. 

But scarce had I touched that sunny lit soil, 

Than a lovely creature appeared, 
The light of the harem ; I saw but her smile, 

When my heart with her beauty was seared. 

If ever perfection had fell from the skies, 

I thought it must surely be her ; 
Such features I never beheld with my eyes. 

So classic, so gentle they were. 

'Twas over with me, for I plainly saw 

That my heart was already in chains. 
For my eyes from her beauty I could not withdraw. 

And love ran like flame through my veins. 

And now, through the system of plotting and scheme, 

I won the fair creature at last ; 
We were to elope, when fairly unseen. 

When Hymen would bind us more fast. 

The time was appointed, some very dark night. 

Which would favor our happy design. 
When the moon and the stars shut out their soft light. 

Was the season she wished to be mine. 

Beneath the high wall of a garden I stood, 
When the hour of appointment drew near ; 

'Twas midnight, and dark as my grandmother's hood, 
Yet my angel did not yet appear. 

But now, 'mid the silence, I thought I perceived 

Some damsel approaching the place — 
Yes, a figure I saw, I was not deceived. 

Though I could not discern the sweet face. 



THE bachelor's LAMENT. 95 

Yet, presently, what should I fatally hear 

But the voice of a jealous old Turk, 
Dressed up like a female, as such to appear, 

And gave me the point of his dirk. 

I instant perceived the terrible snare 

That now so endangered my life. 
For a husband enraged, in fact, I had there, 

Instead of his beautiful wife. 

Now it happened this creature, so young and so fair, 

Had late been in marriage bestowed 
Upon the old Turk, whom her heart could not bear, 

Though his coffers with riches o'erflowed. 

And anxious she was those bonds to escape. 

And fly with a soul she could love ; 
This caused her a step in young romance to take, 

And willingly faithless to prove. 

Thus led on benighted, I knew not the truth. 

That she was already a bride, 
That the old rich bashaw was her husband forsooth, 

Though the creature she could not abide. 

'Twas this that induced her to silent remain. 

Nor my innocent heart undeceive. 
Lest knowing, our love would be severed in twain, 

And I very soon take my leave. 

But her husband, somehow, suspicious had grown 

On account of her beauty and wit ; 
He followed her walks, and thus it was known, 

The plan we so fatally hit. 



96 WRITTEN ON A CLOUDY DAY IN AUTUMN. 

So here, once again, in sorrow I flew. 
With a wound or two more in mj breast, 

But the one which the point of the dirk gave, I knew 
Was not quite so deep as the rest. 

But home I returned to mj own native land, 

Resolving that Cupid no more 
Should get me in bondage by will or command, 

While I linger on life's busy shore. 

And still I am single, and must so remain. 

For to marry seems out of the way. 
For, old maids or young, to court them is vain, 

Since they will not have me, or I they. 



WRITTEN ON A CLOUDY DAY IN AUTUMN. 

See the sky with clouds o'erhung ! 

The wind is cold and shrill. 
And seems to speak, with many a tongue, 

From many a northern hill ! 

The raindrops fall in lazy tone, 

'Mid shadows dark and drear, 
And, mingling with the wind's low moan. 

Proclaim a tempest near. 

The storm-bird shakes his heavy wing, 

And screams aloud on high. 
While mountain clouds their shadows fling 

Across the frowning sky. 



WRITTEN ON A CLOUDY DAY IN AUTUMN. 9Y 

The dingy leaf twirls from the bough 

That rocks amid the blast, 
And hurled promiscuous are they now — 

Are round earth's altars cast. 

So late in vernal beauty clad, 

Then robed in richest dye, 
But now to earth forlorn and sad 

They seared and scattered lie. 

But when the hurricane's rude blast 

Comes sweeping bleakly o'er. 
And snow and sleet fall thick and fast, 

They'll linger there no more. 

And now, while heavy clouds appear 

To shroud the beauteous sky. 
The raindrops fall more fast and clear, 

And winds more hoarsely sigh. 

Yet dearly do I love the day 

Or night with gloom o'erspread. 
When not a sun nor luna^ ray 

Their cheerful luster shed. 

It will the thoughtful soul incline 

To scan life's rugged picture. 
And view what storms and woes combine 

To darken human nature. 

But then the sun of joyous light 

Breaks o'er the spirit's feeling. 

Dispelling all the shades of night. 

Bright hope and bliss revealing. 
9* 



98 THE VOICE OP WAR. 

Thus, like the lovely heavens veiled 
In gloom, a transient while, 

If God's sweet presence be but hailed, 
All nature wears a smile. 



THE VOICE OF WAR. 

Hark ! the distant martial strain 
Bursting on the desert air. 

Wafted from the battle plain. 
Now it thunders on the ear ! 

Loud is heard the cry of war, 
Loud the noisy cannon's roar ; 

Dimmed is freedom's peaceful star, 
Now her banners stream in gore. 

Loud the eagle's scream is heard 
From the storm-cloud, soaring high, 

Misery writhing, vengeance stirred. 
Flashes from his fiery eye. 

Hungry vultures snuff the air. 
Prowling o'er the helpless dead. 

Ravenous, darting here and there, 
Ere the soldier's life hath fled. 

Noble warriors scattered lie 
O'er the bloody, smoking field ; 

Valor beams in many an eye 
Ere to tyrant death they yield. 



THE VOICE OP WAR. \ 

Many an aspiration brave, 

Unuttered in their dying breast, 

Sinks into the Hero's grave. 
And with them in silence rest. 

Perhaps a husband, father, son. 

Give the winds their parting breath, 

Or a lover's course is run. 

Weeping out his blood in death. 

Oh ! what wishful thoughts arise 

In each anxious, aching heart. 
Torn from all they dearly prize, 

Perchance 'neath foreign skies to part. 

No pitying life, no gentle voice 

Is there to sooth the warrior's pain ; 

The battle-field, the soldier's choice. 
Receives the brave, the fallen slain. 

Still upon the shrine of fame. 
While long years roll slowly on. 

Will hallowed memory carve the name 
Of every noble patriot son ! 

Record his fate, his battle toils. 

His weariness and gloom. 
And treasure up as noble spoils 

To live beyond the tomb. 

Peace to their dust ! where'er they rest, 
May nature's brightest foliage spread 

Its richest bloom upon their breast, 

And deck each brave and dreamless head. 



100 BE CAREFUL WHOM THOU BLAME8T. 

And if a halo bright be given 
To span the noble hero's grave, 

May one, the signal gift of Heaven, 
Descend upon the gallant brave ! 



-^^- 



BE CAREFUL WHOM THOU BLAMEST. 

Dost thou a fault in others see 
Of some condemning nature ? 

Think well, before thou censure free, — 
Art thou a sinless creature ? 

Be not too hasty to contemn 
Those minds to error prone; 

Perchance the faults thou seest in them 
May yet imbrue thine own. 

Ne'er let the hated frown of scorn 
Upon thy forehead venture, 

To those who are more humbly born, 
'Tis not a trait to censure. 

Nor let the proud, the haughty sneer 
Rest on the child of sorrow. 

Whose lonely, sad, and dark career 
Hath dimmed the joyous morrow. 

Whose hopeless bosom feels o'erhung 
With gloom and melancholy ; 

That heart should be no further wrung 
Which suffers for its folly. 



BE CAREFUL WHOM THOU BLAMEST. 101 

Hast thou more wit, more learning chaste, 
With charms of outward beauty ? 

Let not on them thy scorn be placed, 
'Tis not the Christian's duty. 

For no deformity, I find, 

Is half so base, notorious, 
As that well learned, yet haughty mind, 

That stoops to acts inglorious. 

Then chide not others more unblest ; 

The same hath God created, 
Though not in all perfection drest, 

Should not by thee be hated. 

No, no ! for Heaven is all love, 

A sea of holy kindness ; 
And where we cold and heartless prove, 

His spirit mourns our blindness. 

It is the sound of pity's voice, 

More sweet than music's strain, 
Can make the lonely heart rejoice 

And soothe misfortune's pain. 

We hear the blind, the halt, the lame, 

In ages past and gone, 
Oft to the suffering Saviour came, 

Who did not them disown. 

But, no ! in meekest faith and love 
He blessed each pleading heart : 

Then shall we less devoted prove. 
Nor act the Christian's part ? 



102 HOPES FLATTER. 

Nay, nay ! let love and pity e'er 
To sorrowing hearts be given : 

Then may we hope to prosper here, 
And share a home in heaven. 



HOPES FLATTER. 

How oft in life's uncertain vale 
Our brightest hopes and prospects fail, 
And while we deem all sure and fair, 
The flimsy bubble bursts in air ! 

The wayward fancy still pursues 
Some object it may fondly choose ; 
Yet seldom do we grasp the prize 
Our vain ambition aims to seize. 

Thus ''Father Time," on rapid wing. 
Will e'er some disappointment bring ; 
Yet brave the heart, and brave the mind, 
That meets opposing ills resigned. 



THE BLIND MARINER. 103 



THE BLIND MARINER. 

The ship rolled on the stormy deep, 

The snow-capt waves rose high, 
And winds came o'er with howling sweep, 

Thick darkness veiled the sky. 

The lightning flew among the shrouds 

That rocked amid the gale ; 
And sea birds circled in the clouds 

Pregnant with rain and hail. 

High on the foaming waters rode 
Our gallant bark amid the storm; 

The rain poured down a perfect flood, 
And mists curled round in horrid form. 

The dancing hail slid o'er the deck 
Like balls of crystal to our view. 

And nothing seemed our speed to check. 
So gallant o'er the waves we flew. 

And thus we tugged against the gale, 
The mighty tempest raging wild. 

Leaving behind a foaming trail 

Like froth in mimic mountains piled. 

The rigging shook her tarry cords 
Amid the hoarsely howling blast, 

And seemed to utter ominous words. 

While torrents poured more thick and fast. 



104 THE BLIND MARINER. 

Yes, every rope that hung aloft, 

As if by gamut so arranged, 
Gave out its music, hard and soft. 

As though into a wind harp changed. 

Oh ! horrid blackness ! still more dark 
The heavens appear, of inky hue ; 

And now our swift and noble bark 

The tempest scarce could struggle through. 

Now diving 'neath the boisterous waves 
That rolled their billows mountain high, 

Then opened, like vast yawning caves. 
To swallow up all that came nigh. 

The gallant and unflinching crew 
Hold skillful duty at their post, 

Yet while at each command they flew. 
Now felt a fear that all were lost. 

The timbers soon began to creak ; 

The storage rocked from side to side ; 
And now the ship had sprung a leak 

And bilged with more than rapid stride. 

The lightning flashed, then streaming down 
The masts in searing liquid flame. 

As though disaster's self to crown. 
Along the fearful deck it came. 

Like fiery serpents flaming bright. 
As though it were in zigzag play. 

But, oh ! my God ! that fearful sight 
Shut out from me the light of day ! 



THE BLIND MARINER. 105 

Yes, yes ! that horrid flash, behold, 

Hath stricken me forever blind ; 
Nor can my piteous fate be told. 

Since I must grope my way to find. 

But, gentle stranger, oh! forgive 
My feeble heart to thus complain ; 

Yet while on earth I'm doomed to live, 
I have to mourn o'er greater pain. 

Yes, memory gives a scathing pang 

Whene'er I turn to that sad hour. 
When death from my poor bosom wrang 

An only son to now deplore. 

Yes, yes! he was a noble youth, 

And firmly at the helm he stood. 
For I had made him mate — forsooth 

He was a boy of bravest blood. 

Ah ! how he loved me ! that dear boy 
Was more to me than life or health I 

My pleasure was his only joy, 

'Twas more to him than India's wealth. 

But when he heard the mighty crash. 
And saw me fall, he thought me dead ; 

He also saw the coming flash 
Descending on my hapless head. 

I knew no more for many days ; 

Deprived was I of sense and light : 
Ah ! how mysterious are God's ways ! 

I came to life, but not to sight! 
10 



106 THE BLIND MARINER. 

But, then, I heard a solemn tale. 

How my poor boy had mourned and raved 

Loud, far above the tempest's wail, 
That he was sadly thus bereaved. 

But, presently another crash 

Came booming from the bending skies ; 
The vessel parted, then a splash. 

She sank — and never more to rise. 

The long-boat had been launched to save 

The brave, the weary crew. 
From that broad, yawning ocean grave, 

And I was with that few. 

But, ah ! my boy ! that darling son 

Was lost in that sad hour, 
Whose manhood bright had just begun — 

I've heard of him no more ! 

Some say he sprang into the main 
While frenzy wrecked his mind, 

Por when they fled they sought in vain 
My darling boy to find ! 

They looked around the sinking wreck, 

Fast fading from their view, 
And when they sought the vessel's deck 

He was not there they knew. 

Five other lives were lost beside — 

Oh ! God ! that fatal day 
There's naught can from my memory hide, 

Though ages pass away. 



THE BLIND MARINER lOt 

For many days our boat was tossed 

Upon the ocean wide, 
And each believed himself as lost, 

Exposed to wind and tide. 

But that devoted God, who ne'er 

The friendless soul will slight, 
Bid smiling land once more appear ; 

It was a welcome sight ! 

Though my poor eyes could not behold 

The grand and fertile scene, 
I felt my loneliness tenfold, 

At what I once had been. 

But, thanks to God for all his care 

And kindness e'er to me. 
He has preserved me many a year, 

While tossed on life's rude sea. 

But weather-beaten now, and old, 

I'm worse the wear 'tis true. 
But still the gospel helm I hold. 

And keep blessed heaven in view. 

If to that friendly port I sail 

When my last voyage is o'er, 
There my dear Tom I hope to hail, 

And part from him no more. 

^'God bless you, father !" cried a voice, 
And grasped the old man's hand ; 

"Your Tom's alive! come, come! rejoice! 
He does before you stand ! 



108 THE BLIND MARINER. 

" Come, dearest father, to my heart ; 

I stranger am no more; 
With pain I've listened to the part 

Thou hast recounted o'er. 

"And now, let me my fate explain ; 

'Tis not so sad as thine, 
Since I my blessed sight retain. 

Though lost, indeed, is thine. 

*'^Yea, father dear, that fated time 

That fortune bid us sever, 
I thought the power of God divine 

Had parted us forever — 

"At least on this vain world below — 
For sure I thought thee dead ; 

And then so shocking was my woe 
That every passion bled. 

"And when I heard the second crash, 
The ship she burst in twain, 

I seized a plank, and with one dash 
Plunged in the raging main. 

" The billows rolled with mountain sweep 

And bore me far away ; 
I still my hold did firmly keep 

To this, my flimsy stay. 

" Thus buoyed up for many hours, 
Tossed by the pelting gale. 

When nearly gone were all my powers, 
A vessel came in hail ! 



THE BLIND MARINER. 109 

"As though the gods would have it so, 

The winds directly bore 
Me 'neath the vessel's friendly bow, 

But then I knew no more. 

" But they had seen, had heard my cry, 

And instant came to aid, 
When every act they could apply 

For my relief was made. 

"With joy and weakness overcome, 

I wept, that they should save 
Me from so terrible a doom, 

(The ocean's depthless grave.) 

"I fainted then; but soon again 

My feeble heart revived. 
Yet only more to feel my pain. 

To find myself bereaved. 

"And now the kindly ship was bound 

Far to some foreign shore ; 
And when myself on land I found, 

I was in slavery's power. 

" To Barbary's coast the vessel steered, 

Where I was captive made, 
By some decree that interfered, 

And since I there have stayed. 

" Nor could I leave that hated clime 

Or from my bondage flee, 
Until this blest propitious time 

That I return to thee. 
10* 



110 THE SPIRIT OP WRATH. 

"And now, dear father, here am I, 
Thy faithful Tom, thy son, 

Returned to thee to live, and die 
When life's last voyage is run." 

Come to my arms, my noble boy ! 

For I must call thee so ; 
Thou hast come back to give me joy, 

Through this dark vale of woe. 

May God be praised for all He's done, 

Although I cannot see. 
Since he has thus preserved my son 

And brought him home to me. 



-^^ 



THE SPIRIT OF WMTH. 

The spirit of wrath is the spirit of woe, 

Wherever the demon may fiad us ; 
As we travel these earthly courts below, 

He stalks in his speed behind us. 

In palace, or cottage, or temple of state, 

He comes, with his fiery wand. 
To touch human feelings with vengeance or hate, 

By the wave of his murderous hand. 

To combat and war he beckons the way, 
With the promise of glory and fame 

To those who are willing to slaughter and slay 
And in blood carve a valorous name. 



THE SPIRIT OP WRATH. Ill 

In the brothel of crime, in the home of the vile, 

He stalks with imperious mien; 
With the finger of death he will point with a smile 

To the features where beauty hath been. 

Yet what but the lurkings of irony there, 

Or a smile that is doomed to deceive ? 
He will flourish his scepter regardless of fear, 

And a snare for their dreamy souls weave. 

Over mountain or vale, or through caverns deep, 

He lurks with untiring skill, 
And nerves up the hand of the robber to creep 

From his den for to plunder and kill. 

And now from the courts of vile Bacchus he turns 

To escort the poor drunken sot home. 
Whose heart with the spirit of fury now burns, 

To scatter some deadly doom. 

Perhaps there's a wife, or a daughter most fair, 

The blast of the tempest must feel ; 
While their shrieks of despondency mount on the air. 

But touch not his bosom of steel. 

The knife may glow with the purple blood. 

And drip from his fingers foul : 
'Tis the spirit of wrath that renders him food 

To harden his guilty soul. 

And now the lover, whose passionate mind 

Lets jealousy gnaw at his breast ; 
'Tis there the dark demon a subject will find 

As fatal and sure as the rest. 



112 MY PET KITTEN- 

Perchance a young bosom he fancied most true 

Was fatally prone to deceive, 
And naught but her life's blood revealed to his view, 

Could the deed of dishonor retrieve. 

Avaunt ! to thy shades ! thou demon of guilt, 

Thou perilous spirit of ire ! 
We might float on the ocean of blood thou hast spilt 

Through the promptings of madd'ning desire. 

Away ! yes, away ! to thy murky domains, 

Where demons of vengeance dance round thee ; 

'Tis there thou art worthy to rule and to reign, 
Since hell first ordained thee and crowned thee. 



-^^- 



MY PET KITTEN. 

My pretty pet kitten ! a kitten thou art 
Just after my mind, or the choice of my heart. 
For thou art so merry, so frisky, and free, 
I am sure there was never a kitten like thee. 

But then thou art very mischievous I own. 
And will not let things for a moment alone, 
For all that thou carest about the whole day 
Is to idle thy moments in frolic and play. 

And then if thou canst, like a villanous pet. 
Just privately into my work-basket get. 
The tapes and the bobbins, and such things in store, 
Are soon in a muss and strewed over the floor. 



THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 113 

If into the garden thou takest a run, 
By the way of a little amusement or fun, 
Thou art sure to exert all thy meddlesome powers 
In tearing and spoiling my beautiful flowers. 

And if a young grasshopper ventures in sight. 
Or a bug, or a spider should near thee alight, 
Such bruising, such scratching, such teasing and that, 
Was never performed by a barbarous cat ! 

But thou art a kitten, and it is thy nature 
To be a contrary and mischievous creature: 
But go, my poor puss ! for I plainly see 
That all reformation is foreign to thee ! 



THE BETKAYED AND THE PENITENT. 

A TALE OF TRUTH. 

Oh, yes ! she was beautiful, chaste to behold, 
Her eyes of a liquid and heavenly blue. 

Her hair hung in soft glossy ringlets of gold. 
And her figure was symmetry's self to the view! 

Her voice was so gentle, so thrilhngly sweet, 
It seemed like the breathing of music to hear, 

When her accents of love she would playful repeat, 
And a smile on her bright cherry lips would appear. 

Her step was as airy and swift as the fawn 
That darts o'er the prairie silvered with dew, 

Or the pet lamb that sports o'er the green velvet lawn, 
And her love was by nature as gentle and true. 



114 THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 

I saw her when bright as the rosy lit morn 

That breaks in its beauty o'er bower and grove, 

Or fair as the snow-drop, or white budding thorn, 

She moved through the circles of friendship and love. 

Her musical laugh was as clear as the shell 
The naiads allow with soft melody ring ; 

Her delicate graces they bound with a spell, 
As moments departed on life's sunny wing. 

Yes, lovely Zorada, how charmingly fair, 

How beautiful thou in thy morning of youth, 

With spirit and feelings as buoyant as air. 

And soul brightly beaming with virtue and truth ! 

But the spoiler, alas ! with its terrible blight. 
Like a storm-cloud, fair girl, came over thy fate, 

And sought to array all thy beauty in night ; 

Thou saw his approach — when to shun was too late. 

It was the voice, yea, of love ! that came, gentle maid. 
Breathing eloquent meaning, and winning thy heart, 

'Twas vows seeming constant thy nature betrayed. 
And left thee to writhe 'neath the terrible smart. 

Young Edgar was handsome, was manly in form. 
Was gay and persuasive, with talent and wealth ; 

His mind seemed impervious to tumult or storm, 

And his visage shone bright with the glory of health. 

A thousand attractions sat high on his brow. 

That looked but the index of greatness and worth, 

And told of a spirit that never could bow 

To aught that was mean on the face of the earth. 



THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 115 

So noble, so loftj did majesty sit 

On his visage and mien, that the daughters of grace, 
Of favor, of love, of beauty and wit, 

All wished in his bosom to hold a fair place. 

*Twas then that Zorada, so beauteous and young, 
Beheld him whose manners won constant applause, 

Whose voice uttered melody soft from the tongue, 
And thus could not fail in the heart-pleading cause. 

He whispered a tale deeply laden with love. 
And spoke of devotion unchanging and true, 

Invoking the gods in high heaven to prove 
His honor unspotted, and constancy too. 

And while in the fervor of rapture he knelt. 
To pour out his passionate vows at her feet, 

No doubt in that moment he honestly felt 

Disposed to perform what he dared to repeat. 

Alas, gentle girl ! too confiding wert thou ! 

'Tis the nature of woman too trustful to live ; 
And even when folly compels her to bow. 

How soon will she pity, how soon will forgive I 

Though proud indignation may flash from her eye 
For a moment, at what may give insult or pain. 

If love rules the throne, and some kind words apply, 
'Tis over, and woman is trustful again. 

And thus was it, fairest Zorada, with thee; 

Thy spirit revolted and fain wouldst thou chide ; 
But love promised still ever faithful to be. 

And make thee, poor injured one, early his bride. 



116 THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 

But triumph is o'er, the victory is won, 
And Edgar's devotions began to decline ; 

A cloud passes over thy morning's bright sun, 
For thou wert now left in neglect to repine. 

With bosom nigh bleeding, though chastened and true, 
Didst thou shrink from the gaze of the world in thy 
shame. 

Yet solitude brought his false image to view. 
And memory carved but too often his name. 

And is it a wonder, when moments reveal 

That thou art a mother, dishonored so young. 

While thy beautiful babe bears the impress and seal 
Of him who betrayed, and thy gentle heart wrung ? 

Yet blessings, Zorada, had Heaven in store, 
'Mid trials and dangers that darkened thy day, 

To save thee from falling from virtue yet lower. 
For friendship and sympathy hung in thy way. 

And, like a proud daughter, we see thee arise 
In firmness and beauty, yet pensive and wan, 

Resolving in future those moments to prize 

Which Heaven would suffer upon thee to dawn. 

And thus it was well ; God watched thee with care, 
Rewarding thy steady devotion and trust ; 

Though years had now past, thou wert destined to share 
The blessings He often reserves for the just. 

And where is thy Edgar, the inconstant one ? 

Hath joyous pleasure illumined his brow. 
As a tribute for all the vile wrongs that he done. 

In leaving thee, fairest, a victim to woe ? 



THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 117 

All, no ! there's an angel unslumbering and just, 
Whose eye wanders over creation's extent, 

Regarding the souls God hath given in trust. 
Performing the mission for which she was sent. 

That angel is Constancy ! and let us beware 
How we trifle with time and eternity here ; 

She is constantly warning our hearts to prepare, 
And do all that is noble, just, right, and sincere. 

And Edgar knew well this bright angel of grace, 
Who followed, and ceaseless breathed in his ear, . 

The time he would virtuous honor deface, 

And the sorrows he drove through that bosom once 
dear. 

And thus, while the torment of sorrow oppressed, 
He grew like a shadow with sickness and pain, 

For conscience resolved he should never have rest 
Till he made the poor injured one happy again. 

But, alas ! he now finds himself nigh to the grave ! 

Zorada still haunts him in vision and dream ; 
He mourns o'er the heart-rending wounds that he gave, 

And found this too painful for life's closing scene. 

Her beauty, her innocence rose to his view, 

As when she appeared in the world's giddy throng, 

With her loving affections, so spotless and true. 
Which to him, and him only, did all then belong. 

The physicians give o'er, their skill is in vain; 

He sends for a pious and noble divine. 
And stated the cause of his sorrow and pain. 

And begged his advice at eternity's shrine. 
11 



118 THE BETRAYED AND THE PENITENT. 

The good man advised, while he brushed off a tear 
That fell on his furrowed and manly cheek, 

And bid him the past solemn deed to repair. 
And peace in an action of nobleness seek. 

"Alas ! if I thought," said the penitent man, 

" She would love, and forgive mj most pitiless slight, 

I would make her my bride ere the night shadows wan, 
Or morning reveals her soft coming light. 

" Five years now have passed ; she surely must scorn 
A soul who could leave her so long in her woe ; 

But if she will pity a conscience thus torn, 
I will, instantly, kind reparation bestow." 

'Twas enough! the fair girl was sought for, and came, 
And nursed by his pillow, as mother and wife ; 

She canceled the deed, and smothered the blame. 
And God, in his mercy, gave back health and life. 

Now years have rolled on, and a happier pair 
There cannot be found in this promising land ; 

Five sweet little innocents bloom 'neath their care, 
And he blesses the hour he gave her his hand. 

Ye skeptics, frown not, while this tale ye may scan ; 

Deeds noble and brave are as victories given ; 
That penitent being in soul was a man — 

May his deeds and his name be recorded in heaven ! 



THE ELOPEMENT. 119 



THE ELOPEMENT. 

The lovely moon, as bright as noon, 

Beamed o'er the silver water, 
When Yambanoo, in his light canoe, 

Bore oflf the chieftain's daughter. 

An Indian maid, in jewels arrayed. 

And painted in many a hue. 
He thought her the pride of the wigwam; beside, 

He loved her most earnest and true. 

Her father, the seer, would never give ear 
To their union, through motives unkind ; 

The cruel old sage always flew in a rage 
When he saw them for marriage inclined. 

Though the youth, good and brave, not a cause ever 
gave 

For this stern indignation and ire. 
Though his crime, to be sure, was just being too poor, 

And daring thus high to aspire ; 

Yet young Yambanoo loved faithful and true 

This beautiful gem of his heart, 
And thus had designed, in his heroic mind. 

With the damsel he never would part. 

And Winglet, she loved devoted as he, 

Though her father raved madly on, 
And swore by his head, and the scalp of the dead. 

The youth he'd ne'er own for a son. 



120 THE ELOPEMENT. 

Thus ever the two, so loving and true, 

Were harassed by sorrow and pain, 
When the wicked old chief, like a villainous thief, 

Declared they should ne'er meet again. 

He then, on a day, tore his daughter away, 

And bid Yambanoo to depart. 
And if he did not, he might look to his lot. 

For an arrow he'd send through his heart. 

But the dauntless brave, though the chief would thus 
rave, 

FHnched not in his love or his duty. 
But made up his mind, some way he would find 

To bear off his wilderness beauty. 

The lovers they met, though with dangers beset, 

One night in a myrtle wood bower. 
When with mutual consent on escape they were bent, 

To fly from dark tyranny's power. 

"Dear Winglet, my dove," said our hero, "your love 

Is the dream and the hope of my life ; 
Though your father may curse, to make matters worse, 

To morrow I make you my wife ! 

" By my wampum I swear, and the w^ar axe I bear. 

To guard and protect you or die ! 
Your own Yambanoo shall prove dauntless and true; 

Your hero, sweet dove, cannot lie." 

The very next night, by the aid of moonlight, 
While the stars hung like gems in the sky, 

Did the maiden repair to the trysting place, where 
She had promised her lover to fly. 



THE HOME OF THE BLEST. 121 



THE HOME OF THE BLEST. 

There's a home for the weary, a home for the true, 

In a land of perpetual flowers, 
Where joys never-ending unfold to the view, 

And summer make up the glad hours. 

A holy dominion of bliss and repose. 

Where glory unceasingly reigns, 
Where rivers like crystal their beauty disclose, 

And music steals over the plains. 

Ay, music from lyres of gold, 

And tuned by angelical hands, 
While seraphs their pinions unfold. 

And soar in celestial lands. 

No sunlight is there to illume 

Those regions of beauty and light. 
Where life is eternal in bloom, 

And glory entrances the sight. 

A home where the weary may rove, 

Exulting in triumph and grace. 
And flashing wherever they move. 

In the light of Jehovah's sweet face ! 

Then blest is the sanctified soul. 

Redeemed by the blood of the Lamb ; 

Though ages eternal may roll. 

They shaH dwell with the holy ^'I AM." 
11* 



122 LITTLE NELLY DALE. 



LITTLE NELLY DALE. 

"What is your name, my pretty child?" 

A lady said one day 
Unto a little girl, that smiled 

And skipped along the way. 

" You are a perfect fairy bird, 

So light, so gay, and free ; 
Your dainty steps can scarce be heard, 

Although so near to me." 

"They call me Little Nelly Dale," 

The modest child replied. 
Whose lovely cheek, though somewhat pale, 

Looked like a roseleaf dyed. 

"I am my father's only pet; 

He has no child but me ; 
But now, since I remember yet. 

Once sisters I had three. 

" But sickness came with burning hand 
And caused each flower to die, 

And now they, in a foreign land, 
Within the churchyard lie. 

"And then our mother, too, must go, 

Who was so good and kind ; 
I cannot see why it is so, 

I should be left behind ! 



LITTLE NELLY DALE. 123 

"And dear papa, he tries to keep 

A gentle smile for me ; 
Yet I can often see him weep, 

While sitting on his knee. 

" And then he looks so very pale, 

His cheeks so wan appear, 
That something, I am sure, must ail 

My loving papa dear. 

"And oft he seems so sadly wild 

While o'er my bed he leans 
And murmurs — 'Ah ! my child, my child !' 

I wonder what it means ? 

" It makes me feel so bad, I own 

I cannot help but cry, 
I fear I shall be left alone — 

That dear papa will die ! 

" I wonder what will then become 

Of Little Nelly Dale, 
Who then, perhaps, will have no home. 

Or friends to hear her tale ? 

"Though I have heard my mother say 

She had a sister dear. 
But she was far enough away, 

Yet often wished her here. 

"For then, she said, if they should die. 

Their child a friend would have 
To guard her, when they both should lie 

Deep slumbering in the grave. 



124 LITTLE NELLY DALE. 

" They said her name was Ellen Wain, 

A gentle heart had she, 
And if they ne'er shoald meet again. 

They hoped she might find me." 

"Ah!" said the lady, staring wild, 

And with a sudden start 
She snatched the darling, prattling child, 

And pressed it to her heart. 

"You are my little love !" said she, 
While tears fell thick and fast ; 

"My sister's child ! and now, I see, 
I've found you out at last ! 

" Long I have weary searched to find 

Whither your parents fled. 
And had made up my anxious mind 

You, one and all, were dead. 

"But sacred joy! How kind is Heaven! 

How marvelous its decree ! 
Since it has thus so strangely given 

My darling niece to me. 

" Your mother called you by my name, 
Sweet treasure of my heart! 

And now, while health and life remain, 
No more on earth we part. 



" We'll now, sweet child, to home repair, 

And bless this sacred hour. 
That Heaven so kindly joined us here 

Through its all-seeing power." 



THE PIONEER OF THE WEST. 125 



■ THE PIONEER OF THE WEST. 

Far, far o'er the mountains high, 

And into the valleys below, 
The bold pioneer is seen to hie 

With his dog, his gun, and his bow. 

At the early dawn of the morn, 

Ere the sun shows his glittering face, 

The forests resound with his echoing horn, 
And his dogs bark aloud for the chase. 

The bounding stag, and the prairie steed, 

The elk and the fleet chamois 
He gallantly follows with vigor and speed, 

The hero of mountain boys. 

On, on ! like an arrow he speeds his way. 

Nor heeds his pleasure or toil, 
Until he returns at the close of day 

Well weary and laden with spoil. 

Then again up, up, at the dawn of light. 
And away over mountain and hill. 

Like an eagle he takes his wandering flight, 
With a hearty and right good will. 

Then ho ! for the land of the west. 
Where the stag and the bufialo roam, 

And the condor and proud eagle rest. 
Secure in their wild mountain home ! 



126 THE PIONEER OF THE WEST. 

There the yeoman with brown sunny brow, 

And feelings exulting and free, 
Follows after his oxen and plow. 

As happy as yeoman can be. 

And there, too, the Indian's trail. 
The warrior's war path, is seen. 

Through dark tangled woodland and vale. 
Where scarce yet the pale face hath been. 

And there doth the pioneer dwell. 
Though well he remembers the day 

The horrible tomahawk fell 

His dear ones to slaughter and slay. 

And though he may drop the warm tear 
As a tribute to memory and love. 

Yet still, all regardless of fear. 

Through those wilds he continues to rove. 

Yet often the flash of his gun. 

Since the times have become more secure. 

Has caused the bold savage to run 
From his aim, ever steady and sure. 

Thus, now in the flourishing West 

Prosperity ladens the soil. 
While the white man's proud labors are blest 

By his honest and ceaseless toil. 

Far, far on the waters now glide 

Mighty ships with their snowy sails spread, 

And steam vessels move in their pride 

Through haunts where the savage once sped. 



TO ZUMENIA. 12t 

And still though the barken canoe 

Of the red man may ply o'er the waves, 

Their war deeds they seldom pursue, 

For soon they'd be hurled to their graves! 

For the pioneers, sturdy and free, 

Are ever alert to defend 
The cause of sweet famed liberty. 

And will fight, and fight on to the end. 

Then ho ! for the glorious West ! 

Where cities now boldly rise, 
Where the toil of the white man is blest 

'Neath freedom's own prosperous skies. 



^^- 



TO ZUMENIA. 

I've seen the sun in beauty shed 

Its glory o'er the morning sky. 
Or dancing on the waves that spread 

Their blue expanse both far and nigh; 
Yet nothing in their charm I see. 
Sweet love, that can compare to thee ! 

I've watched the evening stilly hour, 

When stars peeped from their deep domain, 

And moonlight fell in dreamy power 
O'er mighty ocean, hill and plain — 

Each object, love, was fair to see, 

Yet dearer far art thou to me ! 



128 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

Where'er my spirit fain would stray 
'Mid glorious walks of nature's own, 

Whether by night or noonlit day, 
Thou art ray rising star alone ; 

For fancy still, by fate's decree, 

Can find no joy but loving thee. 

Though I may watch the billow's crest 
Receding from the sea-girt shore. 

And skies in gold and purple drest, 

Or bright with moonbeams silvered o'er — 

Still, 'mid all things sublime I see, 

My thoughts are constant fixed on thee. 

Though years have passed well steeped in pain 
From pangs of unrequited love, 

I now behold thee once again, 

Thy earthly guardian friend to prove; 

And may the gods, by blest decree, 

Bid thou my chosen bride to be ! 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

A SOUTHERN TALE FOUNDED ON FACT. 

A WEALTHY seer of some renown, 
Though proud and wayward mind, 

Lived in a far-off Southern town. 
In ease and wealth refined. 

No wife had he, or daughter fair, 

Or son, so it appears. 
To need his tender fostering care, 

Or bless his failing years. 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 129 

Yet once he had all three, they say, 

And bliss around him shone, 
But death soon bore them all away, 

And left him thus alone. 

Yet like a Benedict of old, 

With morals firm and sure. 
He would not have his mansion sold, 

But kept his home secure, — 

Still thinking at some future time 

In this eventful life. 
As he was yet in green old prime. 

He fain would seek a wife. 

But then as years slid on apace. 

Although to wed inclined. 
He could not meet, in time or place, 

With one to suit his mind. 

Thus very oft a frown of care 

Was seen upon his brow. 
Because upon no legal heir 

His wealth he could bestow. 

Yet one thing he had fixed upon. 

Through freak of romance wild, 
Since wife and children he had none, 

He would adopt some child : 

One poor, and beautiful withal. 

Who might indulgent prove. 
And, while obedient to his call, 

Share his paternal love: 
12 



130 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

One worthy to possess his name 
And all his glittering store, — 

He thought if he could find the same 
On earth, he'd ask no more. 

It would be charity, he knew, 
If such he could but find, 

Who, as in older years she grew, 
Would treat him truly kind. 

Long, long indeed, he looked in vain, 
For one to meet his choice. 

Since perfect beauty he would gain 
In feature, form, and voice. 

Now, be it known, this wealthy seer 

Who thus so liberal felt, 
Was like some other great folks here — 

In Southern slaves he dealt. 

Although a humane man in heart, 
Still custom ruled the day; 

With them he often had to part 
And send them far away. 

Yet he was very kind to those 
He held beneath his care. 

Save in one instance, where he chose 
To act unkind, severe. 

One day two female slaves were bought, 

A mother and her child. 
And when into his presence brought, 

He looked surprised, and smiled. 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 131 

The daughter was a Creole horn, 

Of light, clear olive hue. 
With features beautiful as morn, 

And eyes of heavenly blue. 

The mother was as black as jet, 

An African by birth; 
No homelier slave was ever met 

On this delusive earth. 

Quoth he: ^' Here is an ill-matched pair 

As mortals need behold; 
The daughter is exceeding fair. 

The mother black and bold. 

**A gentle spirit, sure, is here. 
In this young, beauteous child; < 

No doubt she has a heart sincere : 
Her looks are sweetly mild. 

^' Then I shall take her 'neath my care 

And treat her as my own ; 
The mother — you must send her where 

Her child shall ne'er be known. 

** For, from this hour, nevermore, 

Although it gives me pain. 
Must she remain upon this shore — 

They ne'er must meet again." 

The mother wept ; her heart was sad. 

To hear her master's will ; 
For, though so black, ah ! yet she had 

A mother's feelings still. 



132 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

But pleadings were of no avail ; 

They now were doomed to part : 
She pressed the. little trembler pale. 

In anguish to her heart. 

The child was only four years old, 

And to its mother clung; 
When of its infant fate 'twas told, 

Its little heart seemed wrung. 

But then the kind and wealthy seer 
Used some persuasion mild, * 

By telling what his motives were 
Toward her beauteous child. 

He said — "She ne'er should be in want, 

.Or held in slavish chains, 
Or under cruel usage pant 

While life flowed in his veins. 

" That if she in affection grew, 
And truthful, pure, and kind. 

She would in him, too well he knew, 
A loving guardian find." 

This sealed the test ; the child she gave 

Into her master's care. 
Then soon was borne upon the wave 

To some far distant sphere, — 

With many a caution, strict and stern, 

Well noted at the time, 
That she must never more return 

To that sweet Southern clime. 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 133 



The mother gone — the child she grew 

In beauty and in years, 
Endowed with every virtue true 

Which meek perfection wears. 

Ere thirteen summers bright had fled, 
So charming had she grown, 

So sweetly good, the seer was led 
To love her as his own. 

Nor did the gentle creature know 
Much of that dreadful day, 

When, 'mid a mother's bleeding woe, 
They tore her form away. 

For all rose like an infant dream 

Upon her youthful view, 
While gliding o'er life's happy stream, 

'Mid changes vast and new. 

And though sometimes a darkening face 
Would peer o'er vision's throne, 

She soon was taught in it to trace 
A murky nurse alone. 

For often thus the worthy seer 
Would teach her infant heart. 

Whene'er the child would sad appear, 
Or prompting teardrops start. 

And thus each happy season past, 

Pale memory waned apace, 
Until the beauteous child at last 

No gloomy hour could trace. 
12* 



134 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

And all the lovely creature knew 
Was that her fate was blest ; 

She had an uncle kind and true, 
And of all men the best. 

But now an era comes, to change 
The golden dream of life. 

And every joyous scene derange 
To dismal woe and strife. 

The aged seer had thought it right 
To send his pet from home. 

That in some Eastern town she might 
A perfect star become. 

In boarding school he had her placed 
Beneath the kindest care, 

Where every art of learning graced 
Her heart, from year to year. 

But in due time he sends to bring 

His peerless gem away ; 
And soon the beauteous Anzoming 

Had cause to rue the day. 

And what were his paternal views, 
Although most kindly meant ? 

The charming girl soon hears the news- 
On marriage he is bent. 

And there now stood a noble youth 
Of manly form and make. 

And one, if we may speak the truth. 
She was not loth to take. 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 135 

His beauteous mien, his flashing eye, 

Were grandeur's self to view ; 
And while she gazed, she knew not why, 

She felt she loved him too. 

Besides, the aged sire had told 

Fair Anzoming that he 
Would give her weight twice down in gold, 

If she his bride would be. 

The youth he loved the maid at sight ; ' 

He was a planter's son : 
Thus all things seemed to omen right 

When they should be made one. 

Eoth worthy seers were men of wealth, 

And both of some renown, 
And thus they planned the thing by stealth, 

And knocked the matter down. 

For many a confab there had been 

Between the worthy twain. 
As each for mighty gold was keen, 

And lovers, both, of gain. 

They wished their children nobly joined, 

And wealthy made outright. 
And thus considered money coined, 

Two fortunes to unite. 

The marriage knot was early tied ; 

All things propitious seemed ; 
Blest were the merry groom and bride, 

Who naught of sorrow dreamed. 



136 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

But, 'dh ! the dark and horrid gloom 

Which early did prevail ; 
How soon was changed the lover's doom — 

But on this hangs a tale. 

Three days had passed in nuptial joy, 

In music, dance, and song. 
When fate their dream would fain destroy, 

And felt their bliss too long. 

While music rang throughout the halls. 
And merry laugh went round, 

A demon crept within those walls 
And changed the mirthful sound. 

For soon was heard a piercing scream ; 

The bride was seen to start, 
And from appearance all would deem 

A knife had found her heart. 

Ay, but no gory dagger stood 

In bold relief to view ; 
Yet there stood one of blackest blood, 

And near the maiden drew. 

And while she gazed in fiendish pride 

Upon her beauteous face, 
She hissed within her ear, and cried — 

*' Hail ! triumph and disgrace ! 

" So, so ! bend down your pretty ear 

And hear what I shall say ; 
Behold your black born mother here. 

To take your bliss away ! 



THE CREOLE BRIDE. 13t 

" Your short-lived glory I have spoiled ; 

Your pride and pomp have fled ! 
Come to my arms, my darling child — 

Alas! I think she's dead!" 

No wonder, for the beauteous bride 

Had sank into a swoon. 
And well were it had she then died ; 

Alas ! she woke too soon ! 

With horror all the guests looked round 

To see the demon dread, 
Who uttered thus the dooming sound — 

But she, the wretch, had fled. 

What terror and amazement thrilled 

The noble husband's brain ! 
Despair his very life-blood chilled ; 

His soul was crushed with pain. 

He gazed upon her beauteous form, 

Appalled, and with disgust, 
For now his heart, by frenzy torn, 

Was filled with vile distrust. 

The wretched guardian stood confessed ; 

He owned the fraud he'd played ; 
Yet horror filled his manly breast 

At being thus betrayed. 

'Twas now, with feelings deep and sore. 

And accents sadly wild. 
He owned the sacred love he bore 

Toward the Creole child, — 



138 THE CREOLE BRIDE. 

Whom he had passed on son and seer 

With fraudulent mtent, 
That she amazing wealth might share, 

As one of French descent. 

The husband listened, all amazed, 

To this most startling tale, 
And while upon her form he gazed, 

His lips grew deadly pale. 

He bore her, fainting, in his arms 

Unto her nuptial bed. 
And while he viewed her youthful charms, 

All love and pity fled. 

"Vile, beauteous siren!" he exclaimed, 
" The truth is now revealed ; 

Although you should not thus be blamed. 
Still, still your doom is sealed ! 

"Your cruel guardian is the cause 

Of this appalling part ; 
To earthly bliss there is a clause — 

This dagger finds thy heart !" 

'Twas then one fearful plunge he gave, 

And drove it in her breast. 
Believing that an early grave 

For his lost bride was best. 

He then the guardian sought, and found 
Amid the wondering throng. 

And soon he drove a mortal wound 
For solemn proffered wrong. 



grandpapa's wig. 139 

Then with a yell of wild despair 

He fled the fearful place, 
To hide his shame — ah ! God knows where — 

His steps no soul could trace. 

Some said he fled to wilds unknown, 

In solitude to dwell, 
And there his tragic fate bemoan — 

But who of this can tell ? 



GRANDPAPA'S WIG. 

Say, do you remember, dear Helen, the day, 

As we sat in the myrtle wood bower, 
A messenger came in a hurry to say 

Our dear grandpapa was no more ? 
Ah, me ! how we wept, that no more we should see 

His darling old face, meek and pale. 
Sitting with us, beneath the large sycamore tree. 

Telling many a startling tale. 
Alas ! never more we shall run at his call. 
To hang up his wig on the peg in the wall. 

How sweet were the seasons when he would come down 

To stay at the cottage awhile ! 
His loving old brow never dimmed by a frown. 

And his lips always wreathed with a smile; 
And then at the close of the long summer's day. 

While the sun rested over yon hill, 
Would he take us, all merry and laughing, away 

To fish in the stream at the mill. 



140 grandpapa's wig. 

And then, after night, we would run, one and all, 
To hang up his wig on the peg in the wall. 

Ah, those were the times ! jet I think I can see 

Him just as he was when he sat 
With dear little Nell climbing up on his knee 

To play with his three-cornered hat. 
His old honest face looked so gentle and kind, 

And his laugh was so pleasing to hear. 
While always some right merry joke he would find 

To humor our juvenile ear ; 
And then, at bedtime, we would run, one and all. 
To hang up his wig on the peg in the wall. 

Sweet treasured gone hours to memory dear. 

How often I bring them to mind ! 
When he romped with us all in the cherry grove near, 

Or played hide and seek — who will find ? 
What rapture would beam in his loving gray eyes 

When he peeped all around with such care. 
Pretending to find us, as though by surprise, 

Though he knew all the time we were there ! 
Ah, darling old man ! then at night he would call 
Us to hang up his wig on the peg in the wall. 

That beautiful wig I can never forget, 

With its long silver curls all so trim ; 
Then on his bald pate it would have such a set — 

I am sure it would fit none like him ! 
And oft, as the night of the Sabbath declined, 

Would he bid us assemble for prayer ; 
'Twas then, as each one in his arms he entwined. 

He would kiss us all round, with a tear ; 
Then, bidding good night, we would run, one and all, 
To hang up his wig on the peg in the wall. 



OLD DOBBIN. 141 



OLD DOBBIN. 

Poor Dobbin is old! yet many's the time 

I have seen him go prancing gaily, 
But that, to be sure, was when young and in prime, 

And he traveled in harness daily. 

'Twas only to speak, and the beast he would go 

Most willing wherever you told him. 
And that very often too, whether or no — 

Indeed, you could scarcely hold him. 

'Twas then he was proud, and would cock up his ears, 

If he saw a vile thing in the road ; 
Some slanderers said it was naught but his fears, 

And wished to get rid of a load. 

But that was a fib, for we know very well 
That a stake or a stump will not scare him, 

For away he would go if he over it fell. 

But then from such freak we would spare him. 

And scandal again, ever busy, would say — 
And we think it a shame to be spoken — 

That the beast was a stumbling brute in his way. 
And they marveled our neck was not broken. 

Poor Dobbin ! if he only knew all was said. 
Although now in years he is growing, 

Would never be able to hold up his head — 
However, of this there's no knowing. 
13 



142 OLD DOBBIN. 

The creature he never done wrong in his life — 

In this I can venture to clear him — 
Save once, when he knocked over Katj, my wife — 

Eut then she'd no business near him. 

True, once in my time, I did hear it said — 
Though I never would credit the story — 

That he pulled a straw bonnet from some lady's head, 
And munched it all up, in his glory. 

But some people have such a passion for fibs, 
They owe him a grudge, and I know it ; 

And if they but dare, they would pummel his ribs, 
Ay, kill him, perhaps, for they show it ! 

But, ah ! never mind ; each one has his day, 

And Dobbin is now in the stable, 
Nor am I afraid of his running away 

If even the creature was able. 

Though, true, he one day took a notion or two 

Just to peep from the old stable door. 
When, shortly after, the first thing I knew. 

He was over in Gosling's store. 

Yet this silly venture I never could blame. 

Though neighbors considered him mad. 
For his oats were all out, and he knew whence they came. 

And he went where the thing could be had. 

And this clearly proved him a brute of some sense. 

And I petted him up for his caper ; 
Thus feel it my duty, though years should glide hence. 

To hallow his name upon paper. 



THE REPOSE OF THE DEAD. 143 



THE REPOSE OF THE DEAD. 

How holy the spot, the home of the dead, 
Where rest the remains of the blest; 

Those beings we honored, as life onward sped, 
And loved as the kindest and best ! 

'Tis pleasant to ramble in solitude there. 

And muse over days now no more, 
And drop o'er the turf affection's warm tear 

As the tribute to those we adore. 

For though now no longer we have them, yet we 

Can wander to where they are laid, 
And in the fond mirror of memory see, 

And, seeming, speak with their shade. 

And there we can muse on the future and past 
Of the world, with its changes and strife, 

And feel what we all are to come to at last, 
When borne from this troublesome life. 

For moral instruction is there to be found 

In every season and age. 
And what is not heard in the death-dooming sound. 

Is seen on eternity's page. 

Ah ! then how important, in life's little hour. 

Our time to improve for the best, 
That when our short journey on earth here is o'er, 

We may enter the home of the blest ! 



144 MY PET RCBIN. 



MY PET ROBIN. 



Sweet warbler ! ah ! how I pity thy fate, 

Thus kept in a prison — both early and late ! 

And though thou art fed on the daintiest fare, 

It seems, to my heart, that thou shouldst not be there. 

For what though thy beautiful cage is of gold, 
With ornaments bright and rich to behold, 
And chickweed in plenty, with sugar and paste, 
Hung over thy bars to encourage thy taste, — 

Still, still it appears, if thou only couldst speak, 
Or a voice could come forth from thy delicate beak, 
Thou wouldst soon to this fickle and wide world declare 
Thou wouldst rather be out in the forests than there. 

Sweet bird ! how I wish I dare now let thee fly 
And soar far away, ay, toward the blue sky; 
How soon would I open thy golden cage door,' 
And let thee enjoy holy freedom once more ! 

But should I now let thee, in pity, depart, 

Some huntsman, perchance, would soon aim at thy 

heart. 
And at the report of the gun's fearful sound 
I might see my dear pet falling dead to the ground. 

Or if thou shouldst off to the tall forests fly. 
Where thou art a stranger, and no kindred nigh, 
A bevy of birds of most quarrelsome kind 
Would soon the new home of my poor robin find, — 



MY PET ROBIN. 145 

And then they would battle and treat thee unfair, 
When soon thou wouldst wish thyself under my care ; 
For all thy sad wailings could never be heard, 
And nothing could save thee, my beautiful bird ! 

Then be thou content 'mid thy wires of gold, 
For I know that my robin is safe in his fold. 
And each new-born day he shall have the best fare 
The hand of affection can for him prepare. 

For soon frigid winter, with boisterous breath. 
Will wrap up the forests in slumbering death ; 
But thy cage shall be hung in my boudoir warm. 
Secure from all danger and free from the storm. 

But when balmy spring shall return once again, 
And flowers enamel the woodlands and plain. 
Then, robin, I'll open thy pretty cage door 
And let thee go free — I can do nothing more. 

So now my sweet pet must whistle and sing, 
And at night tuck his head 'neath his beautiful wing ; 
Then soon as the heavens are soft, blue, and clear, 
Sweet freedom is thine, though it cost me a tear. 

But when winter comes, with its breath bleak and chill, 
Harping loud from each stormy and northern hill, 
Then, robin, come tap on the clear window pane, 
And soon will I welcome my pet home again. 



13* 



146 OUR mother's grave. 



OUR MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

Come, sisters, let us seek the grave 

Of our own mother dear, 
And there the lovely green turf lave 

With memory's holy tear. 

Alas ! no more her loving face 
Among our group is seen ; 

The grave is now her resting-place, 
Where father long has been. 

Ah, yes ! that meek and loving voice, 
That sweet and gentle mien, 

Which made our hearts so oft rejoice, 
Is yet by memory seen. 

For still affection calls to mind 

How late she did appear, 
While all her soothing accents kind 

Fall gently on our ear. 

But what though we are orphans, left 

To brave a world of woe ; 
That God, who has our hearts bereft. 

Will shield us well, I know. 



He never, never will forsake 
The heart by sorrow torn. 

But rather 'neatli his pinions take 
And comfort those who mourn. 



AUTUMN IS HERE. 14*7 

Then never let us fail to trust 

In his protecting care, 
Who is so holy, wise, and just 

To all his children here. 

He knows our every want and need, 

Our every grief and pain, 
And will to earnest prayer take heed — 

None ever ask in vain. 

Then let us look to Him above. 

The orphan's guide and friend, 
Whose gentle nature is all love, — 

He'll shield us to the end. 



AUTUMN IS HERE. 

Autumn now is here, with its trees all in the sear, , 
And many a blushing leaf hangs from the bough ; 

But it is a darling time, now the season's in its prime, 
And seldom 'tis as beautiful as now. 

The hedges they are bright with colors dark and light. 
And the meadows they are dusky in their hue ; 

The waters they are clear as at any time of year, 
And the wild birds they are coming not a few. 

The harvest now is o'er, and the reaper's song no more 

Is heard to echo gaily o'er the plains. 
While the merry woodman sees 'tis time to cut his forest 
trees. 

And have the worth of labor for his pains. 



148 THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 

We hear the sportsman's gun while the stag is on the 
run, 

And the hunted hare is hiding in the vale ; 
The village lass is seen coming o'er the mottled green, 

And the milk maid, too, is skipping with her pail. 

'Tis a pleasant time of year, though faded scenes ap- 
pear, 

And the whistle of the robin lingers still ; 
"While through the forests gay we hear the mournful laj 

Of the wild dove, and the lonely whip-poor-will. 

Yet soon each gaudy hue that meets our roving view 
Will hurl their fading beauty to the blast, 

While snow and frozen sleet will crash beneath our feet. 
And nothing will be seen of them at last. 

For winter's chilly breath will soon wither them in 
death. 

And naught of lovely Autumn will appear ; 
Yet ever dear to me are the changes that I see, 

As they make up the full glory of the year. 



-^^ 



THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 

Do you know of the cottage down by the sea side, 
Standing under the brow of the hill? 

There honest old Robert was known to reside, 
And perhaps he is living there still. 



THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 149 

His hut was of logs put together with clay, 

And not very large to be sure, 
Yet was a snug cabin enough in its way, 

As it kept him from tempests secure. 

There Robert resided, contented and free, 

With a wife suited well to his mind. 
And sweet little children, perhaps two or three, 

As rosy as any you'd find. 

And a blessing for him that his household was small, 

For Robert was humble and poor; 
Yet he managed, somehow, to provide for them all, 

Keeping poverty out of the door. 

Let me see — there were five ! and Towser beside — 

A pretty good number indeed ; 
And then the pet cat with the turtle-shell hide. 

He had all by his labor to feed. 

But never old Robert was heard to complain 
When things did not go as they might. 

For he always believed, whether losses or gain. 
The matter was perfectly right. 

But one thing with him was well understood, 

As he was a Christian for sure. 
That sinners should take the bad with the good. 

And what they can't help, must endure. 

A very good creed for the patient and strong. 

But seldom brought into effect. 
For vile discontent to our natures belong — 

Thus the bright golden rule we neglect. 



150 THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 

But not SO with Robert ; as moments would glide 
And things would oft take a wrong course, 

He would always endeavor to view the bright side, 
Nor grieve to make matters grow worse. 

And thus he trudged on through a lifetime of toil, 

Bearing with him a guileless breast ; 
Believing, though fate our best efforts may foil, 

All that happens is sure for the best. 

He never was known to foam or to fret. 

Or torture or give creatures pain, 
Save the poor little fishes he caught in his net, 

Or would sometimes run into the seine. 

And that was his living, we very well know. 

For Robert ne'er thought it a crime. 
Whenever his fortunate net he would throw, 

If hundreds he caught at a time. 

'Twas then a sweet smile of happy content 
Would light up his good-humored face ; 

Believing the Lord all the fishes had sent 
Through his infinite mercy and grace. 

It was pleasant to see, at the close of the day. 

When his toil and labor were o'er. 
How snug he would stow all his tackle away, 

And moor his light craft to the shore. 

Then home he would trudge with a heart light as air, 

And a spirit contented and free. 
To see how all matters were going on there, 

And his children to take on his knee. 



THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 151 

But then if some travelers chanced to pass by, 
And would wish him to ferry them o'er, 

Though ever so weary, poor Robert would try 
To favor them all in his power. 

No matter if winds blew high or blew low, 

He never was known to refuse. 
But ever believed it his duty to go. 

Though in the long run he should lose. 

Yet there is a saying, and one very true, 
As the feature is oft brought to light, 

That a man will lose nothing by trying to do 
What is worthy as well as polite. 

And here in one case we will truly admit 

The motto was brought to a test; 
Where honest old Robert he lost not a whit, 

By acting his kindest and best. 

One night, if the time we can rightly remember, 

'Mid terrible snow, sleet, and rain, 
A traveler called — it was late in November — 

The fisherman's service to gain. 

» 

The hurricane winds blew fearful and drear. 

And surges beat wild on the shore ; 
So honest old Robert was heard to declare 

Such a time he had scarce seen before. 

But then he was never a coward, and fear 
Was unknown to his weather-worn breast ; 

Yet he told the lone stranger that danger was near, 
But he'd do all he could for the best. 



152 THE HAPPY FISHERMAN. 

"I must go," said the guest, "though the storm rages 
wild ; 

I am neither much loath or afraid ; 
On yon island I've got a dear sick wife and child, — 

Your labor shall be nobly paid." 

Ah, that was enough ! the humane appeal 

Struck deep to his heart, ay, his life ; 
For Robert, indeed, knew too well how to feel. 

Himself having children and wife. 

Off, off was the boat soon got from the shore, 

And bounding across the mad waves ; 
Amid the bleak storm and the surges' wild roar 

You'd have thought they must soon find their graves. 

But Heaven was kind ! they succeeded at last ; 

The vessel got safe to the land ; 
When the stranger, as soon as the boat was made fast, 

Rewarded with liberal hand. 

Withdrawing a purse from his pocket, he said — 
''You have acted most nobly and kind ! ' 

Take this, but I do not consider you paid- 
in me a sure friend you will find. 

"Whenever in sickness or in distress. 

Or if ever in -want you should be, 
I will always endeavor to make your woes less — 

Be sure then to call upon me." 

With thanks, honest Robert prepared to depart 
Once more 'mid the tempest and storm. 

With a tear on his cheek, for his faithful old heart 
Felt now with deep gratitude warm. 



THE SUICIDE. 163 

Soon, soon he was plowing the billows once more, 
While the winds harped with ominous sound ; 

But soon he was plodding his own happy shore, 
And safe in his cottage was found. 

And what do you think, when the purse he undrew, 

After kissing all round with delight ? 
Dear reader, he found there a hundred or two 

Of gold ducats, to bless his old sight ! 

And never were hearts more supremely glad, 

While tears filled with rapture all eyes; 
You'd have thought in your soul they would all have gone 
mad 

At this blessing bestowed in disguise. 

Though Robert declared he knew, for a sign, 
That something was brewing that way, — 

That a number of kinks had got into his line. 
And his hand had been itching all day. 

However, we know there was joy and delight. 

Such as seldom to mortals is sent, 
On that stormy, blustering Saturday night. 

In this cottage of happy content. 



THE SUICIDE. 

'TwAS midnight — and appalling gloom 

Was o'er the city spread ; 
All seemed as silent as the tomb 

Where lie the slumbering dead. 
14 



154 THE SUICIDE. 

The world seemed locked in dreamy sleep, 

The air was dank and foul ; 
Yet on the mournful silence deep 

Was heard the watch-dog's howl. 

Or, ever and anon, a sound 

Came up upon the ear, 
As some lone sentinel took his round 

'Mid shadows dark and drear. 

Such solemn stillness and such gloom 

Was seldom ever known ; 
One would have thought the night of doom 

Was round creation thrown. 

The heavens were black as ebon hue ; 

Thick darkness fell around; 
And not one single star in view 

Relieved the gloom profound. 

Yet, while this midnight silence hung 
Aroiind the city fair, 
^ There was one wretched soul among 
The wakeful sons of care. 

For there are some who cannot sleep, 
When conscience rends the mind, 

Though gladly they in slumber deep 
Repose would sweetly find. 

But misery, with its demon power, 

Will on the vitals gnaw, 
And at the noiseless midnight hour 

Will oft the life's blood draw. 



THE SUICIDE. 155 

And such a one we offer here, 

Whose life seems but a shade, 
Whose soul is wrecked with woe and care 

Through some most faithless maid. 

Alone he sat, in solemn mood, 

Within his chamber walls, 
Plotting a scene of crime and blood 

Which now the heart appalls. 

His features were most pale and grim, 

His saul was seared and sad ; 
Ay, any one to look at him 

Could but pronounce him mad ! 

Such fearful and unearthly light 

Flashed from his sockets bold. 
That while it pierced the gloom of night, 

'Twere awful to behold! 

And then those muttered words, that fell 

With deep and guttural tone 
Through his clenched teeth, could sadly tell 

Some deed was to be done. 

"Base world!" he cried, with frenzied air, 

" How have ye wrung my soul ! 
Your dreams of bliss are false as fair ; 

Accurst is love's control ! 

*'A demon 'neath an angel's guise 

Lured my fond heart astray : 
False Julia, thy Menander dies — 

Love's perjured vows to pay ! 



156 THE BLIND CHILD. 

" Foul phantom ! come not near my brain, 

This death accurst will be ; 
A thousand lives of endless pain 

Will now devolve on me ! 

'* But fate is fixed ! my doom is sealed ! 

Why should I pause in dread ? 
Why fear the future unrevealed, 

Or wish to shun the dead ? 

** Why linger thus with paltry fear — 
The deed it must be done — 

Though countless damning ghosts appear 
To claim their victim won ?" 

And now, with frenzied look, he raised 

A dagger that was near. 
Then on the fatal blade he gazed. 

And dropped one burning tear. 

But then that tear was only one 
From memory's inmost core ; 

He gave one thrust — the deed was done — 
Menander was no more. 



THE BLIND CHILD. 

Pretty child, with flaxen hair, 
Light-blue eyes and features fair. 
Dimpled cheek and polished brow, 
What a darling pet art thou ! 



THE BLIND CHILD. 15T 

But say, whither dost thou fly ? 
Why thus rudel}^ hurry by ? 
Canst thou not one moment stay, 
Nimbly passing on thy way ? 
Little stranger, pause awhile ; 
Let me see thy rosy smile, 
Hear thee gently speak thy name, 
Tell me too from whence thou came ; 
For thou art a darling pet 
I cannot very soon forget ! 

" Lady, lady, it is true 
That my eyes are azure blue. 
And that ringlets soft and fair 
Float around my shoulders bare ; 
And of dimples, which you speak. 
Playing on my rosy cheek : 
All are blessings sweet and kind — 
But, dear lady, I am blind ! 

*^Ah, you start in deep surprise ! 
Look once more into my eyes ; 
Though they seem both blue and bright, 
They are sealed in endless night. 
Yes, dear lady! and I'd give 
A hundred ages, could I live. 
But to drive the mist away 
And behold the light of day. 
Which so beauteous must appear 
Throughout the glad and rolling year. 
But 'tis vain to wish ; I find 
I must live forever blind. 
U* 



168 THE BLIND CHILD. 

" Yet how often have I smiled, 
Though I'm but a little child, 
When from others I can hear 
How fair and bright all things appear: 
The earth with all its fruits and flowers, 
Its forests gaj, and garden bowers, 
Its sunny skies with planets bright, 
That look like spangles in the night ; 
How holy all must be to view! 
But, ah! this joy I never knew, 
For dear mamma, in accents kind, 
Oft told me I was always blind. 

" Yet, lady, still I think I hear 
Her sweet and loving voice near, 
Painting on my sightless view 
All nature perfect, grand, and true, 
Until I almost thought I saw 
The very picture she would draw ; 
Yet, still, she taught my heart to pray, 
And thank my Saviour, day by day. 
For all his mercies free and kind. 
And love him dearly, though I'm blind. 

"But now I am an orphan lone. 
For mother she is dead and gone. 
And father he is far away — 
If he is living to this day; 
But many think he is no more, 
And died upon a foreign shore ; 
Yet, of this, I cannot learn, 
And often pray for his return, 
Still hoping Heaven kindly may 
Bring back my dear papa some day: 



THE VILLAGE GREEN. 159 

Although his face I cannot see, 
Still I can hear him speak to me 
In loving accents, sweet and kind ; 
Then I'll be happy, though I'm blind I'* 

" Dear little prattler ! go thy way ; 
May Heaven guard thee day by day, 
And all thy steps from danger keep 1 
Thy painful story makes me weep : 
Think not those eyes, now sealed in night, 
Are closed forever from the light ; 
Ah, no ! those sightless orbs shall see 
The glories of eternity !" 



^^ 



THE VILLAGE GREEN. 

Look, upon the village green. 
What a merry troup is seen, 
A happier set hath never been 

In all creation fair ! 
Just watch each lovely smiling face, 
And if contentment you would trace. 
As well as purity and grace. 

You'll surely find it there. 

And yonder is old Parson Gray — 
He always tries to come this way 
On every merry gala day; 
He loves the little clan ! 



160 THE VILLAGE GREEN. 

And, if I don't mistake mj view, 
There is the honest piper too, 
With bagpipes, though by no means new, — 
Dear clever-hearted man ! 

And there is Ned, the miller's son, 
A worthy lad he is for one. 
But loves a little rural fun — 

For 'tis his very nature ; 
Yet folks, who will talk matters o'er. 
Say that young Ned loves something more — 
A lass within yon cottage door, 

With smiling face and feature. 

Yet while they speculate so free. 
The whole may village scandal be — 
Such matters have been known to me — 

However, let it pass ! 
For, say, what right have we to know 
Who has or who has not a beau ? 
It is no harm, I tell you so. 

To love a pretty lass ! 

Hark ! now the music has begun ! 
Behold the frolic and the fun ! 
They now in every figure run 

And dance with garlands gay ; 
Or some in merry circles meet, 
With airy forms and nimble feet, 
Their songs of welcome to repeat, 

For 'tis the first of May. 

And see ! with what delight they bring, 
Each one, their posey offering 
To crown the lovely nymph of Spring 
With gaily painted flowers; 



WHAT IS LOVE? 161 

Ah, yes ! of all the charming year 
No moments are so sweetly dear, 
Or half so glad or bright appear, 
As these fond rosy hours. 

And ever welcome is the day 
Of lovely, smiling, first of May, 
When troups of lads and lasses gay 

All hasten to the scene ; 
Most neatly, if not gaudily, drest 
Up in their tidy, Sunday best, 
To sport away a day of rest 
Upon the village green. 



WHAT IS LOYE ? 

What is Love ? It is a flame 
That does not only live in name ; 
A tender passion, toying, teasing, 
Sometimes warm and sometimes freezing; 
A feeling smothered up with sighs. 
And almost killing to the eyes; 
Something much beyond control, 
A perfect tempest in the soul ; 
Bringing often tears and sadness, 
With fits of melancholy madness ; 
Dooming, tearing mind and reason, 
Duly in and out of season; 
Crushing every joy in view, 
Causing pistols oft for two ! 



162 WHAT IS LOVE? 

Dismal source of pain and pleasure, 

Often horror without measure, — 

Then avaunt ! thou prudish ranger, 

Demon oft of death and danger ! 

Since thy presence torture brings, 

Reason ought to clip thy wings. 

Away, avaunt ! I'll none of thee, 

Thou little rogue of destiny ! 

To bother with an imp so blue 

I would not for all famed Peru ; 

For what would be its mines of gold 

If I myself to torment sold ? 

I know thee well I I've seen thy hoaxing. 

Sometimes threatening, sometimes coaxing, 

Flattering, fawning, laughing, fooling, 

Almost half creation ruling ; 

While thy votaries, over-kind, ^ 

Call thee a little god that's blind. 

Ha ! a pretty thing to tell ! 

Vain rogue ! thou seest but too well ! . 

Sure Argus never had more eyes! 

Though thou art but a babe in size. 

Yet ever into mischief creeping, 

In every hole and corner peeping ; 

Until we find, without a doubt, 

The heart is riddled inside out ; 

And all would seem a question whether 

The wounded parts would hang together. 

Then get thee hence ! thou pigmy thing. 

Fluttering round on gauzy wing! 

Shoulder thy quiver and silver bow. 

And away to thy goddess mother go ! 

For if the truth were known, no doubt. 

She knows not, rogue, that thou art out. 



THE MOSS-COVERED SEAT. 163 



THE MOSS-COYERED SEAT. 



How often fond memory loves to retrace 

Those hours of childhood now gone, 
When innocent rapture lit up our young face 

As time glided swiftly on ! 
How well I remember the dark, shady wood, 

And the spring and the running brook too. 
Where often I wandered in right merry mood 

To cull the sweet violets blue ! 
Yet dearer to me was it ever to rove 
To the charming old moss-covered seat in the grove. 

Ah ! many's the time, in the warm summer hours, 

We sought out its beautiful shade, 
After running to gather our basket of flowers — 

And there our sweet garlands we made 
To give, as a tribute of holy esteem, 

To juvenile friends that ^vere dear I 
And great was the joy and delight that would beam 

From many an eye bright and clear ; 
Then away we would scamper, with hearts full of love, 
To the darling old moss-covered seat in the grove. 

But now, like a dream has all faded away ; 

Dark changes have come o'er the scene; 
Yet memory, faithful, still turns to the day 

When pleasure and hope shone serene ; 
Yea, fond recollection, in coloring true, 

Can paint those bright halcyon hours 
When the morning of life was unclouded to view, 

And visions of purity ours. 



164 THE PARTING. 

But gone are those seasons of childhood and love, 
When I sat on the moss-covered seat in the grove. 

How many sweet friends have departed and gone 

To the shadows of death and the grave, 
While I am still left to plod onward alone, 

And the storms of misfortune to brave ! 
Ah ! who would have thought that so dreary a change 

Would have clouded the day-dream of life. 
And every hope of enjoyment estrange 

Into scenes of confusion and strife ? 
Yet so it hath proved, nor more can I rove 
To the charming old moss-covered seat in the grove. 

Yet what though afar from the scenes of my youth, 

From the fields where I sportively played. 
Or see nevermore the bright woodlands forsooth, 

Or the clear running brook in the glade ! 
Yet memory still, with its holiest power. 

Shall treasure those scenes of repose. 
And muse on each glowing and sweet sunny hour, 

Till life and its changes shall close ; 
Ay, still will affection and memory rove 
To the charming old moss-covered seat in the grove ! 



-^^- 



THE PARTING, 



Don't weep, don't weep ! life of my heart ! 

It wrings mj soul to see that tear ! 
Though cruel fate now bids us part. 

We'll meet again, ah ! do not fear ! 



THE PARTING. 166 

What though the rolling waves shall bear 

Me o'er their bosom, far away ! 
Thy own loved image, true and dear, 

Shall never, never from me stray ! 

No matter, dearest, where I roam : 
Though raging seas our hearts divide, 

Affection still will wander home, 
And find me ever at thy side. 

Ay, every loving look and tone. 
That from thy gentle lips now flow, 

Shall seem to me, when I am gone, 
The same as now — that well I know ! 

Think not that absence e'er can break 

Affection's sweet, devoted chain; 
Ah, no ! it only serves to make 

The bosom prone to greater pain ! 

Ay, pain that rankles deep and keen 
Within the true and faithful breast, 

And prompts to many a tear unseen, 
While loving memory has no rest. 

For such is true and holy love ! 

Such gushing purity shall be — 
No matter, dearest, where I rove, 

Devoted fondly still to thee. 

And many a fervent, silent prayer. 

As weary moments may depart, 
Shall be that Heaven will land me where 

I soon may fold thee to my heart. 
15 



THE MISER. 



And then, what nameless joy will bless 
Our bosoms reft so long in twain ! 

What rapture hail the parting kiss — 
Ay, meet, nor part till death again ! 



THE MISER. 

Look, look ! say, do you not behold 
Yon miser with his bags of gold ? 
See how he clutches, counts his spoil 
With wakeful eye and ceaseless toil ! 

Ay, what of holy sleep knows he? 

A very wretch he seems to be ! 

He fears th^ drowsy god to feel, 

Lest rogues his hoarded wealth may steal ; 

And if he falls in drowsy mood, 

His mind still o'er his treasures brood. 

Counting his gold for pleasure's sake — 

The same asleep as when awake — 

And with the same insatiate eye. 

As though he ne'er was born to die. 

Poor sordid wretch ! what demon foul 
Hath took possession of thy soul ? 
He sees not, in his thirst for gain. 
The penalty of guilt and pain ; 
He fears no dread of curse or doom 
Beyond the precincts of the tomb. 

What cares he for gospel sound ? 
He ne'er within its reach is found ! 



THE MISER. 167 

It is to liim a letter dead, 
Of which he bothers not his head ; 
But gold ! ah, gold ! that is the theme 
Which ever proves his wakeful dream ; 
Of it alone his soul can think — 
It is to him both meat and drink. 
A crust, or penny roll, each day 
Will keep him in his meager way, 
With but his shining hoard in view, 
Good bread and water, it will do. 

Count, count ! ay, count it o'er ; 
Perchance he's added to his store ? 
Or if there is no further gain. 
He finds his counting is not vain ; 
For pleasure sparkles in his eyes 
To see the heaps before him rise, 
Though not one jot or tittle more 
Is present than there was before. 

Ha 1 how he clutches in his grip 
Each weighty bag, lest it may slip 
Or tumble from his bony hand 
And make a jingle on the stand, 
Or yet upon the dusty floor. 
Which might be heard outside the door, 
And thus attract some robber bold 
To come and steal his hidden gold ! 

Alas ! what looks of fear and doubt 
His eyes are seen to cast about ! 
A mortal dread runs though his veins 
Lest he may lose some of his gains ; 



168 CLOSE NOT THINE EAR. 

And e'en at night, when toil is o'er, 

And penny rushlight burns no more, 

When all is safely placed away 

To count again another day. 

The sordid wretch his arms will fold 

Around his darling chest of gold ; 

And there he dreams the long night through 

He has the glittering hoard in view, 

Nor cares for devils, grinning, prancing, 

Or fiery tongues around him dancing. 

Or demons hissing in his ear 

"Beware, miser! ah, beware!" 

He heeds them not, still lightly deeming 

He only had been foully dreaming. 

Thus he plods the whole night through 

Without one future joy in view, " 

Waiting with mind benighted, steady, 

Until the time Old Nick is ready 

To bear him off from all his pelf. 

Unknown, unbidden by himself. 

When he must hear the dooming sound — 

" Go ! thou among the lost art found; 

Thy homage Was to Mammon given ; 

Thy earthly gain has lost thee heaven !" 



^^- 



CLOSE NOT THINE EAR. 

Shun not the voice of counsel good and true, 
When given with a motive pure and kind ; 

It may a generous warning prove to you, 

And saye from dangers that enthral the mind. 



THE VOICE OP NATURE. 169 

For when we scorn reproof that's mild, sincere, 
And cling to sin, regardless of our fate, 

We'll find that judgments follow our career, 
And deeply mourn our rashness when too late ! 

'Tis wise to listen, ignorance to scorn 
Sweet counsel given by a friendly voice, 

When it is meant our stubborn hearts to warn 
And save us from some dark misguided choice. 

None are so firm but what the best may err. 
And none so good but they may slip or fall ; 

Though God's displeasure we may oft incur, 
There's mercy offered still for one and all. 

Ay, mercy ! if the heart will turn and live, 
Nor too long trifle with eternal might ; 

For there's an hour God ceases to forgive, 
And mournful takes his everlasting flight. 



-^^- 



THE VOICE OF NATURE. 

I HEAR it in the rushing tide 
That sweeps against the shore, 

Or when along the mountain's side 
The ocean sends its roar. 

I hear it in the tempest shrill 
That shakes the earth and sky, 

Or when the air is calm and still 
In every zephyr's sigh. 
16* 



ITO THE VOICE OP NATURE. 

I hear it in the woodlands gay, 

When Spring's soft beauties reign ; 

In every warbling tenant's lay 
That hail their shades again. 

I hear it in the murmuring rill 

That rippling steals along, 
While countless })usy insects fill 

The desert air with song. 

I hear it in each beauteous note 
Of pipe or shepherd's horn. 

That o'er the distant mountains float 
When comes the blushing morn. 

Each wild, uncultivated strain. 
Through self-instruction given, 

Is nature's music o'er again. 
Just echoed back from heaven. 

'Mid caves of solitude is heard 
The mutterings of its voice ; 

The rocks, though mute, proclaim the word 
That nature's works rejoice. 

In storm or calm, in every hour, 

Is ceaseless wisdom shown ; 
The stars, the planets, speak with power. 

And make God's glory known ! 

Each plant or flower that mutely blooms 

Retains a voice to tell 
That nature's God the whole assumes, 

And in the midst doth dwell. 



THE REUNION. Itl 

And, louder still, more firm than all, 

Is that meek voice within, 
Which o'er the spirit's feelfngs fall 

To chide the heart for sin. 

And do we see thus nature speak 

In all, o'er all, still on. 
And yet refuse that wisdom meek 

Which Heaven smiles upon ? 

The earth, the sea, the holy sky, 

All have their speaking claim, 
That tells, in vast immensity, 

Jehovah is the same ! 



THE REUNION; 

OR, 
THE winter's fireside TALE. 

" Hark, mother ! how the pelting storm 
Howls round our humble cot ! 

Though we are here secure and warm. 
And share a kindly lot ; 

"Although we have a cheerful blaze 

To throw its light around. 
And peaceful nights and happy days 

Are in our cottage found, — 

" How many beings, lone and poor. 
Are wandering far and wide. 

Across the bleak and frozen moor. 
Or by the mountain's side ! 



172 THE REUNION. 

"Perchance no friend or bosom dear 
To bid them welcome home, 

Nor bright nor sunny thoughts, to cheer 
Them as they onward roam. 

" Momentous gloom hangs o'er the vale ; 

Loud groans the dismal blast ; 
The clouds pour down both rain and hail— 

I'll make the shutters fast ! 

" Now, mother, I will sit by thee 
Before the cheerful hearth. 

And pray that thou wilt tell to me 
A tale of woe or mirth. 

"For thou hast, many a night like this — 

Perchance not so severe — 
Told me of tales once fraught with bliss, 

That pleased my heart to hear." 

mother's reply. 

"'Tis true, my child," the dame replied, 

"I many a tale have told ; 
But one that memory fain would hide 

I will this night unfold. 

" Thy tender years hath long forbid 

My feelings to impart 
What now shall be no longer hid 

From thy inquiring heart. 

" Yea, dear one, start not with surprise ! 

Come, seat thyself by me; 
For soon, perhaps, these aged eyes 

May gaze no more on thee ! 



THE REUNION. HB 

" Thou tliinkest, 'cause thy heart is gay, 

And sadness never knew, 
And thornless flowers strew thy way, 

That mine is joyous too ! 

" But, ah ! thou knowest not the storm. 

And far more drear than this, 
That robbed my once gay, happy form 

Of every earthly bliss ! 

"But, hark ! the tempest fury bears 

Its spirit on the blast ; 
I have not known, for many years. 

The sleet to fall so fast ! 

"Just such a night of threatening gloom, 

Some eighteen years ago. 
Bring swift to mind my early doom, 

A sight of weal and woe ! 

" 'Tis true this cottage then was new, 

With merry woodbines crowned, 
And flowers around fantastic grew 

As from enchanted ground. 

" The old oak tree before the door, 

Now rocking in the gale. 
Once threw its laughing branches o'er 

The subject of my tale. 

"A dear companion shared my bliss, 

The partner of my fate, 
And when he stole the wedding kiss, 

We thought our joys replete. 



174 THE REUNION. 

" The rolling seasons passed away 

On bright and sunny wing, 
And every cheering new-born day 

Its sure delights would bring. 

"I thought those dreams of joy could ne*er 

Depart from holy view, 
Bat demon Fate came brooding here — 

In all its horror too ! 

"Autumn had fled ; the tall trees now 
Heaved out their wintry moan. 

While snow-wreaths hung from every bough 
Like gems from beauty's throne ! 

" With dear Fitzgerald at my side — 

He was thy father, child ! — 
I thought myself, in truth, a bride 

On whom kind Heaven had smiled. 

"'Twas night — just such a night forsooth, 
Now eighteen years or more — 

When, sudden, a mysterious youth 
Rushed in the cottage door ! 

"A furious band in strange attire 

Now met our frighted view ; 
We were the victims of their ire, 

And merciless vengeance too ! 

" The tempest howled ; loud was the blast ; 

Oh ! dark, treiliendous night ! 
The heavens, with blackness overcast. 

Gave not one ray of light. 



THE REUNION. 1T5 

" Descending snow and heavy sleet 

Beat round our cottage walls ; 
And thus, to make my woe replete, 

Fitzgerald lifeless falls. 

" The wretches seized me as I hung 

Upon his fainting heart ; 
The cruel accents of their tongue 

Soon told a treacherous part. 

"A band of robbers, threatening, bold, 

With visage fierce and wild, 
Soon tore him from my sacred hold, 

But took not thee, my child. 

" Swift, swift they bore him from my sight ; 

And since that fearful hour. 
No charms aiFord my heart delight. 

And hope revives no more ! 

" Where'er they led him, I could ne'er 

By every effort learn ; 
But live, I have, a victim here. 

His murdered fate to mourn. 

" Yet I must tell, and tell again, 

I was the cause of all ! 
Which maddens feelings into pain 

Of dear Fitzgerald's fall ! 

"A rival lover, child, was he. 

My soul's adored, I own ! 
And when I vowed his bride to be, 

Bagald's heart turned to stone. 



n6 THE REUNION 

" He swore, by every stern decree, 
That vongeance was his aim, 

And should his darling motto be, 
If me he could not claim. 

" Thus when he threw his mask aside 

I saw his fearful mien ; 
Said he, ' Thou hast a robber tried. 

In Rugald thou hast seen. 

" * No more shall human pleasures bring 
Their fairy dreams of rest. 

For thou hast placed a lasting sting 
Within my tortured breast. 

" * The civil ranks of men no more 
Shall have me in their throng ; 

The voice of mirth I now abhor. 
And all where joys belong. 

" *A bandit's life I woo with pride ; 

Its gloomy toils are mine ; 
Since now thou art Fitzgerald's bride, 

My misery shall be thine ! 

" ' Torn from him ever thou shalt be, 
Though kill thee I will not, 

But learn thou shalt, to feel like me. 
No parting pain's forgot. 

" * Then fare thee well ! pursuit is vain ; 

Stir not from here this night ! 
For if I meet with thee again. 

There's danger in the flight !' 



THE REUNION. Itt 

" Thus spoke the savage youth, and fled 

Amid the howling storm ; 
While on the heartless bandits led 

Thy father's captive form. 

'* God only knows whate'er they done, 

For search were all in vain ; 
For horsemen, on the morning's dawn. 

No sight of him could gain. 

" From that tremendous night, my child, 

No tidings could I learn. 
And sorrow round my heart hath coiled 

To find him ne'er return. 

"And thus I would not pain thy heart, 

Or quote the saddening tale, 
And oft assumed a cheerful part 

Lest thy young hopes might fail. 

" I told thee he was dead, my dear ! 

For that it might be true 
I think I had much cause to fear, 

Since naught of him I know. 

" Be he a captive, dead or not. 

The world I'd give to know ; 
Nor can I from my memory blot 

That night of weal and woe. 

"And thus I thought it time to tell 

Tliy lovely virgin heart 
The sorrow which my fate befell 

Ere thou couldst feel the smart. 
16 



118 THE REUNION. 

" No terrors o'er thy infant head 
Were numbered as thou slept, 

Nor knew thou how the bosom bled 
That o'er thy cradle wept. 

" I've gazed upon thy slumbering brow, 
And kissed thee o'er and o'er ; 

And many a prayer, as well as now. 
Hath smoothed the midnight hour." 

DAUGHTER. 

" Dear mother ! thou hast burst a chain 
My feelings long hath worn, 

In silence, o'er and o'er again. 
That thou did'st ne'er discern; 

" I mean suspense, that long hath clung, 

Around my spirit's throne. 
And whispered some strange mystery hung 

O'er future fate unknown. 

"And, mother ! odd as it may seem, 

Last night thy only child 
Did revel in a curious dream ; 

'Twas e'en romantic, wild ! 

" I thought the moon was shining bright, 
The heavens were blue and clear, 

And countless stars threw down their light 
The evening hours to cheer. 

" The summer's sweetly soothing breeze 
Blew round our vine- clad cot; 

The night birds warbled in the trees. 
And flowers adorned the spot. 



THE REUNION. It 9 

**And soft a strain of music stole 

Upon the balmy air, 
While every note entranced the soul 

As if from angels near. 

"At length a stillness seemed to reign 

Around the sacred place ; 
I looked and listened — looked again, 

But could no being trace. 

^' Just then a whisper met my ear 

More sweet than music's sound; 
I thought I heard a father's prayer — 

His blessing I had found. 

" But hark, dear mother ! don't you hear ? 

The watchdog gives alarm ! 
Some traveler surely must be near — 

I hope they mean no harm ! 

"For since thou hast revealed to me 

This deep and saddening tale, 
Each object that I hear or see 

Alarms me that I quail. 

" The sighing of the tempest, too. 

Breaks mournful o'er my soul, 
And causes feelings strange and new 

Beyond my heart's control. 

"The mighty boughs wreak out their moan 

In accents sadly wild ; 
And, mother, here we are alone, 

Thyself and orphan child. 



180 THE REUNION. 

"But God, who rules the tempest, still 
Our sovereign friend will be; 

And thus, I trust, he surelj will 
Defend both thee and me I 

" But listen ! footsteps near the door — 

I hear them in the snow I 
Perhaps some soul would aid implore, 

Or wish the way to know I 

" Then courage, mother ! surely none 
Could harm thee in thy years. 

But reverence, when they look upon 
Thy visage steeped in tears ! 

" But list ! the hand is on the door ! 

My bosom quails with fear ; 
Sweet Heaven send thy shielding power 

If danger now is near!" 

ENTER STRANGER. 

" Dear ladies, fly not ! fear not one 
Bewildered, strange, yet kind ; 

For as the shades of night came on 
No shelter could I find. 

"I've come o'er many a woody height, 
Through many a frozen vale, 

Till heaven shut out its friendly light 
By clouds of rain and hail. 

"And night in all its hideous form 
Came on to clothe the scene ; 

For many a year not such a storm 
My exiled soul hath seen. 



THE REUNION. 181 

"While distant far, a glimmering flame 

I from your casement viewed ; 
Thus cold and lost, you will not blame 

That I should thus intrude ! 

"A stranger, I, in truth appear, 

Yet would most humbly pray 
That you will let me tarry here 

Until the break of day, — 

" When I must leave you purse in hand 

For what you now bestow, 
And other blessings at command 

When more of me you know. 

" 'Tis many years since I have trod 

This well-remembered soil ; 
But fate had marked out my abode 

For misery and for guile. 

" It must be sure not far from here 

Where once in peace I moved 
With one to every feeling dear — 

A wife I fondly loved. 

"My own Zuphelia, chaste and true, 

In all her lovely charms — " 
The cottagers now screamed, and flew 

Into the stranger's arms ! 

It was the exiled father, who 

For years had been away ; 
But then with time such changes grew 

That altered much were they. 
16* 



182 THE REUNION. 

And scarcely could they now believe 
Years could such ravage bring ; 

And thus each other's looks deceive 
Where love's devotions cling. 

But nature's own affections e'er 
A leading trait will prove, 

To call us to those scenes most dear, 
And those we truly love. 

For lengthened years can never blot 
From memory's holy view 

Those objects, not to be forgot, 
With all their changes too. 

Fitzgerald now caressed by turns 
His wife and daughter dear ; 

While every thought with rapture burns 
To swell the melting tear. 

And now did he each scene explain 

That had his fate befell, 
With scarce a hope that e'er again 

He would among them dwell. 

He said, "When Rugald's fiendly hand 
Had dealt the treacherous blov/. 

He ordered his tyrannic band 
No freedom to bestow, — 

"But lead me to the nearest shore, 
Where then in waiting stood 

A vessel which too quickly bore 
Me on the rolling flood, — 



THE REUNION. J 83 

" Intending, when far off from land, 

To give me to the waves ; 
But other advents were at hand, 

And jour Fitzgerald saves ! 

" Feeling his rival in his power. 

He most imperious grew, 
And told me I should never more 

Mj home or country view. 

*' Thou hast exulted in thj claim, 

And blighted all mj joy ; 
Yet though Zuphelia bears thy name, 

Your bliss I will destroy ! 

"Never each other shall ye greet 

If my best strength prevail ; 
Thou art destined for fishes' meat — 

The hungry shark and whale. 

" How did the tempest drive along 

Our flimsy, leaky boat ! 
The ocean's wild and roaring song 

Did horrid tales denote ! 

" But hardened in their foul design. 

He and his hellish crew 
Laughed but to scorn the plot of crime 

And raging tempest too. 

" Morning brought still its lowering gloom, 
Though rushing storm had ceased ; 

I looked upon the waves' broad tomb 
Designed for me at least. 



184 THE REUNION. 

" Some whisperings now of meanings kind 
Their plotting lips expressed, 

That plainly told my troubled mind 
I soon would be at rest. 

"But now a flag in view appears 
Just through the misty light ; 

And swift a boat toward us nears — 
'Twas pirates then in sight. 

"Escape was vain, too well they knew ; 

Our little vessel they 
Did gallantly, in truth, pursue, 

And claimed before broad day. 

" Then no reluctance did I feel, 
For doomed I seemed to be ; 

I thought it needless to appeal 
For life or to be free. 

" But when I told to them my case, 
Although they pirates were, 

They did to confidence give place, 
And thus my life did spare ; 

" But did the others instant slay. 
And robbed them of their store ; 

Their golden pelf they took away — 
They could not well do more ! 

" They bore me to a distant isle, 

There sold me for a slave, 
Where years of anxious pain and toil 

I for my freedom gave. 



THE REUNION. 185 

"And when redeemed, I instant sought 

Some ship to bear me o'er 
To that sweet home affection taught 

Was on mj native shore. 

" But oh ! what thoughts my soul oppressed, 

Lest I should find you dead ! 
How oft have I God's throne addressed 

While every feeling bled ! 

" I knew not what befell your fate, 

No chance had I to learn, 
Yet feared that wretched Rugald's hate 

Did vilely on you turn. 

" It were more terrible than death 

Had he dishonored thee; 
But then I knew, with life and breath, 

Thy soul was constancy. 

" But all is passed ! It is a dream 

O'er memory to preside ! 
Deem it, my love, a little theme 

Adventure hath supplied. 

" Here, here we are, all safe and sound, 

With blessings yet in store ; 
The exile hath his loved home found, 

And those he loves still more. 

" Here, in this sweet pastoral spot, 

Devoted we will live; 
Joy shall again attend our lot, 

While praise to God we give. 



186 THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 

" Our beauteous daughter, chaste and true, 

Will bless our future life ; 
Thus joys unceasing will pursue 

The father, child, and wife." 

Years now have fled ; but legend still 

Holds out the tale to view, 
And many a roving minstrel will 

The exile's fate renew. 



THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 

AN OVER-TRUE TALE. 

Ledella was a beauteous child, 

Exceeding fair and kind ; 
'Twas holy sweetness when she smiled — 

And lovely was her mind. 

Her eyes were heaven's purest blue, 

Her hair of auburn bright ; 
Her figure, fairy-like to view. 

Was buoyant, chaste, and light. 

A thousand graces sweetly played 

Around her perfect form. 
As though by sacred nature made 

To fascinate and charm. 

Her parents, they were proud and vain, 

And as in years she grew, 
They strove her feelings to restrain 

From subjects pure and true. 



THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. Ig^ 

Religion thej received with scorn ; 

Thej doubted Heaven's power ; 
And thus they sought their child to warn 

In many an evil hour. 

^'Beware !" said thej, "of all you hear, 

Dear daughter, for we own. 
If you to serious thoughts give ear 

Our hearts are turned to stone ! 

" 'Tis folly, madness, when they tell 

Of future worlds of bliss ; 
'Tis but to bind your heart by spell 

With doctrines such as this. 

" See, you are placed on pleasure's ground, 

With friends and kindred dear. 
And if true joys are to be found 

They surely must be here ! 

" Trust not to what those teachers say 

Who in the pulpit stand ; 
They'll take your happiness away, — 

There is no other land ! 

" They'll tell you angels crowd the throne 

Where great Jehovah reigns ; 
That all whoe'er his laws disown 

Are doomed to hell and pains. 

" Then listen not ! you know we love 

You more than all on earth ! 
Then do not disobedient prove, 

But join the ranks of mirth. 



188 THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 

" See pleasure while you can, my child ! 

For this your life was given ; 
On you hath wealth and virtue smiled, — 

There is no other heaven !" 

But holy thoughts were brooding o'er 
This daughter meek and fair, 

Although her parents sought to pour 
Temptation in her ear. 

To church, unknown to them, she went 

To hear the gospel sound ; 
And there the Lord his angel sent — 

His spirit there was found. 

But soon the parents saw the change ; 

Her spirits gay were fled ; 
They now began to think it strange. 

And thus the father said : — 

" This will not do ! our child will die — 
How pale she looks and sad ! 

What is the cause ? I know not why ! 
A doctor must be had !" 

A famed physician now was brought, 
Who valued Heaven's laws ; 

And soon the anxious parents taught — 
Religion was the cause. 

"It shall not be !" the father said; 

" 'Tis but a phantom dream; 
I'd sooner see my daughter dead 

Than harbor such a theme!" 



THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 189 

And now he gives a brilliant ball 

To lure her pensive mind ; 
And far and near invited all 

His friends of gaudy kind. 

A glittering dress, all spangled o'er, 

He forced his child to wear ; 
While diamonds bright as beauty's power 

Were woven in her hair. 

And thus with tears the parents won 

Upon her youthful heart ; 
And when the mazy ball begun, 

Ledella danced her part. 

Adored, caressed by flattering friends. 

All gloom was thrown aside ; 
But Heaven its own chastisement sends 

To quell the force of pride. 

The change of dress, the heated room, 
With force of thoughts combined. 

All sealed the fair Ledella's doom 
Erom that sad night, we find ! 

Borne to her chamber, there she lay 

With burning heart and brow ; 
Her parents, with what anguish they 

Look on their daughter now ! 

Each day they view, with painful grief. 

The sinking, wasting frame ; 
No power on earth could give relief— 

For Heaven had willed the same. 
17 



190 THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 

One day, her parents weeping near, 
She called them to her side 

And said, " My honored parents dear, 
How vain is earthly pride ! 

*' Go bring, I pray, my spangled robe, 
And diamonds for my hair ; 

Ere life's best pulses cease to throb 
I wish to see them here." 

They started back in deep surprise 
At such a strange request; 

But still she wished before her eyes 
What in she once was drest. 

And now the gaudy sight they placed 
Before her ghastly view ; 

Then on her parents loved she cast 
A look to pierce them through. 

" Dear parents, see ! the time is past ! 

I once to grace was given ! 
Till this bright robe was o'er me cast 

To steal my heart from Heaven. 

" I once upon my Saviour's breast 
Had felt disposed to lean, 

Till in this robe you had me drest 
To join the ball-room scene. 

" Oh ! look upon my ghostly form 
And see the end of pride, — • 

A creature for the earth and worm, 
Perhaps for hell beside ! 



THE APOSTATE DAUGHTER. 191 

"'TIs now too late, my doom's revealed, 

Mj soul is clothed in night ! 
Dear father, mother, you have sealed 

Your child from glory's light ! 

"Dark demons round my pillow wait 

To bear my soul away ; 
Oh ! how I wish, when now too late, 

For time to w^eep and pray ! 

"Dear parents ! then give up your creed 

Of which you vainly boast ; 
There is a holy God, indeed, — 

Turn, turn, or you are lost I" 

Then on their trembling knees they fell 

And clasped her dying hand ; 
Conviction bound them as by spell — 

'Twas Heaven's supreme command! 

They gazed upon her marble brow 

With solemn, deep despair. 
And plainly could they feel it now, 

The cause that placed her there. 

And now a sacred vow they give, 

In one united bre ath, 
The holy Lord's to daily live, 

And claim him after death ! 



192 CONSCIENCE. 



CONSCIENCE. 

If e'er I do wrong by heart, deed, or tongue, 
And friends would write caution below it, 

'Tis then I would say, without much delay, 
" Don't tell me, for surely I know it!" 

If day after day I throw time away. 

When God is so kind to bestow it, 
No one need to tell that I fail to do well, 

'Tis certain I feel it and know it. 

If ever the poor should call at my door, 
And meanness, I ventured to show it. 

None need then to warn if I treat them with scorn, 
My heart, if so wicked, must know it ! 

If e'er it should be I must treachery see. 
And make no attempt to o'erthrow it, . 

But league in with art to act a base part, 
I sin, and most truly must know it. 

If anger should e'er before me appear, 
And I to a flame would dare blow it, 

'Tis then I would feel what truth must reveal — 
That I had done wrong, and must know it. 

But if I do well, my conscience will tell, 

For feelings of pleasure o'erflow it; 
For when I do right in Heaven's broad sight. 

Don't tell me, for quickly I know it ! 



THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 193 



THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 

A TALE. 

The night was dark, the winds blew hoarse 

Along the mountain side, 
And not a star in nature's course 

With light the gloom supplied, — 

When Horace, on his stubborn steed, 

Was weary homeward bound ; 
He spurred, he coaxed, yet still indeed 

The brute crawled o'er the ground. 

And now a horrid storm arose ; 

The lightnings flashed severe ; 
The rain in mighty torrents flows ; 

Yet home was nowhere near. 

The thunder rolled along the sky, 
The trees heaved out their moan ; 

In everything that met his eye 
Some phantom grim was shown. 

But what made matters worse was this — 

It was a haunted wood ! 
Nor could he ugly thoughts dismiss 

That nearly froze his blood. 

It was the village talk. — 'Twas said. 

On certain nights was seen 
A man to walk without his head. 

Who murdered there had been. 
IT* 



194 THE aOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 

But Horace thought, to be afraid 

Would manly not appear, 
And thus he now quite loudly said — 

"I am no slave to fear ! 

" Who cares for village paltry chat? 

Of goblins or of ghost ? 
'Tis some old woman's tale, all that, 

To scare one, at the most! 

" Come, Dobbin, get yourself along ! 

You are a lazy brute ! 
I vow I'll sell you for a song, 

For me you do not suit ! 

" You hear the thunder rolling round, 
And see the lightning's glare; 

So that they shake the very ground 
And almost raise my hair! 

" Yet here you go, just half asleep, 
While I am drenched with rain ; ■ 

Ay, in one crawling pace you keep — 
A fool you be, that's plain ! 

" But as to fear, it's all a fudge ! 

No ghost that e'er could be 
Would cause me from this spot to budge- 

What ! scare a man like me ? 

" Why, if a regiment were here 
Of goblins pale and grim, 

I'd show some sparring, that is clear. 
In every bone and limb !" 



THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 195 

Thus thought young Horace, as again 

He spurred his stubborn beast ; 
To get him in a trot were vain, 

Or hurry him the least. 

" Gee up, Dobbin ! gee up ! gee ho I 

The animal's possessed! 
For thumping will not make him go 

Out of a creep at best !" 

And now a sudden freak he took, 

Nor would he move at all ; 
And Horace felt that he must look 

As whitened as the wall. 

No wonder ! just at such a time. 

And in just such a place ! 
Besides, his every guilt and crime 

Now stared him in the face. 

Bewitched he thought the horse must be — 

He now began to stare. 
And fancied he could plainly see 

Winged spirits in the air ! 

The lightnings still most glaring flew 

Before his wondering eyes ; 
The thunders rolled, the winds they blew 

Enough to shake the skies ! 

And now before him seemed to stand 

A tall and ghostly mien. 
That pointed with its meager hand 

Tow'rd something yet unseen. 



196 THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 

And noises strange came booming round, 
And thundered in his ears ; 

The lightnings roll along the ground, 
And Dobbin snorts and rears. 



"Ye gods, defend me !" Horace cried 
"Your aid, in pity lend!" 

As there he stood, mouth open wide. 
And every hair on end ! 



Then down he fell upon his knees 

Into the soaking grass. 
And begged the Lord that he would please 

To let him onward pass ! 

" For here. Lord, I am weather-bound. 

By imps and ghosts beset. 
And stunned to death by many a sound. 

While dripping cold and wet. 

" Do let a trembling wretch go on ! 

I don't know how to pray ; 
But Dobbin he has crazy grown, 

And here intends to stay. 

" What ails the beast I cannot tell ; 

He's but a sorry tool ; 
The varmint sure is bound by spell, 

Or else he's turning fool ! 

" Then help, Lord ! dispel the charm, 
And get me through this wood — !" 

Just then he thought he felt an arm. 
And some one near him stood. 



THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 191 

Ready to die with fear or fright 

He gave one groan and fell, 
When some one lifted him upright, 

And broke the horrid spell. 

" Why, Horace ! are you really crazed? 

What are you, man, about ? 
My very soul you have amazed, 

Till I must laugh right out ! 

" Why can't you find a fitter place 

Than this, dear boy, to pray? 
Why, if you had all Heaven's grace. 

Need you exposed here stay ? 

" I was toward the village bound, 

The storm did me o'ertake ; 
When near this spot I heard a sound 

Most strange, and no mistake ! 

" Thus drawing near, I list awhile ; 

The voice I thought I knew. 
Nor could I help, dear man, but smile 

When you so frightened grew. 

" What scared you man ? I pray you tell ; 

I vow you look most dead ! 
Hath sudden illness you befell. 

Or has your senses fled?" 

" Good God! dear George ! oh, what a storm ! 

What is that yonder stands ? 
It looks like some great ghastly form 

With outstretched arms and hands ! 



198 THE aOBLTN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 

" Heaven ! my senses are most gone, 
And Dobbin is scared to death ! 

I could not make the beast go on — 
He's panting now for breath !" 

"And you are too," said George, " I see ! 

Why for one moment hark ! 
That is an aged, a blighted tree, 

Stripped clean of all its bark! 

" Years hath the thing been standing there, 

But not as you see now ; 
It is enough your horse to scare, 

But then not you, I vow ! 

" This morning, very early, I 
Was passing through this wood, 

When this dead tree I did descry 
Which here so long hath stood. 

" Thinks I, this poor old timber sure 
Has weathered many a gale. 

And many more it may endure 
Should its old trunk not fail ! 

"And being in a private road, 

And in this forest drear, 
I thought it yet might do some good 

As friendly way-mark here. 

" So as the lightning long ago 

Its bark had loosened quite, 
I just set to, my skill to show, 

And stripped it ; thus 'tis white ! 



THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 199 

" One lower limb I left to stand, 

Perhaps five feet in length, 
Just as a kind of pointing hand. 

But won't insure its strength. 

" So now, my boy, when this I done. 

But as a kindly deed, 
I thought I had no risk to run — 

And no one else, indeed ! 

" Thus if my plans so dangerous prove, 

I shall without delay. 
To-morrow this sad ghost remove 

Out of the traveler's way." 

" Well, well !" said Horace, "I am beat ! 

Is this the phantom ghost ? 
The thing that knocked me ofi" my feet — 

An old dead tree and post ? 

"And now I tell you what, my friend, 

I honestly admit 
I thought my days were at an end — 

To die I was not fit ! 

" The many tales of goblin kind 

The village folks relate 
Made me of superstitious mind. 

The very thing I hate ! 

"And thus you know this wood hath been 

A dread to neighbors round, 
For ghosts, they say, are often seen 

To walk this haunted ground. 



200 THE GOBLIN, OR REFORMED COWARD. 

** To this I always gave the laugh, 

I ne'er would it believe ; 
It was a tale too gross by half, 

And framed but to deceive. 

" But passing through the goblin bounds 
Just as the night drew near, 

Amid the storm I thought that sounds 
Unearthly met mine ear. 

" Each story I had ever heard 

About the haunted place, 
Did coward fear their every word 

On burning memory trace. 

" The storm so hideous coming on 

Amid this forest gloom, 
Each thing I set my eyes upon 

Would spectral forms assume. 

"And Dobbin, he must too turn fool. 

Amid perplexing fears ; 
'Twould serve him right if in some pool 

I'd plunge him neck and ears. 

"And now, dear George, the secret hold ; 

Expose me not, I pray ! 
In future I will prove more bold 

If passing by this way. 

"When goblin tales again I hear 

In all their haunting form, 
This comic-tragic night will rear, 

(A picture in a storm.") 



THE TRUMPET OF WAR. 201 

And now the travelers onward speed, 

Por home and shelter's sake, 
But laughing all the way, indeed. 

As if their hearts would break. 



THE TRUMPET OF WAR. 

Loud, loud sounds the trumpet of war 

From the ramparts of glory afar ! 

Come, soldiers, for battle in majesty rise. 

And exultingly send your brave shouts to the skies. 

" Come, soldiers, arise !" is the chieftain's loud cry; 

"Let it be our bright motto to conquer or die ! 

Our foes are surrounding, and nobly we 

Will fight for our country, fall, or be free ! 

"The trumpet of war! sound, sound it aloud, 
Let its echo ascend on the smoke-teeming cloud ; 
Scorn, scorn the mean trammels of cowardly fear, 
And high on the ramparts of glory appear ! 
Fight, fight on, ye heroes, ye brave sons of war. 
Our banners shall float 'neath a conquering star ! 
In .martial array we will now to the field. 
And valiant the sword and the battle-axe wield. 
The trumpet of war ! sound, sound it again ! 
Let it ring from the shore to the trackless main, 
Our foes they shall never, in triumph, repeat. 
We are vanquished and grovel as slaves at their feet ; 
Our mothers, our wives, our daughters shall ne'er 
Have a blush on their lovely cheeks to appear, 
18 



202 TO MY MOTHER. 

Or thoughts of confusion, or sorrow, or shame, 
That a cowardly blot is thrown over our name. 

" Then arise, sons of battle ! the trumpet of war. 
Let it ring from the hills to the wave-beaten shore ; 
Spread, spread our gold banners aloft in the air. 
Their stars and their stripes shall our victory declare 
Columbia's sons, let your proud motto be — 
In battle we die, or live and be free !'* 



-m^ 



TO MY MOTHER. 

When all the world hath left me, 
And fortune hath bereft me, 
And grief hath nearly swept me 

From frail existence here ; 
Thy gentle love endearing, 
Hath still been kind and cheering, 
'Mid every sorrow searing. 

My angel mother dear ! 

Thy bosom, ever trusting. 
Each wrong of mine adjusting 
When my poor heart was bursting 

With pain and misery ; 
Who, while the tear was stealing, 
And fate its pangs revealing. 
Did blend with every feeling ? 

Sweet mother, it was thee ! 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 203 

Thy pure and gentle brow 

Was grieved, I scarce know how, 

But yet can feel it now, 

And still I mourn it ; 
For all my cares were thine, 
Each pang thou felt of mine, 
And none but love like thine, 

My mother, could have borne it ! 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 

A HISTORICAL TALE OF TRUTH AND ROMANCE. 

A PROUD usurper of a distant realm, 

Whose haughty soul of vengeance well was known, 
For he, as tyrant, could a place o'erwhelm 

With shame, as easy as to rule a throne. 

A libertine he was, of artful will, 

Destroying virtue, beauty, everywhere 

As far as laid within his demon skill; 

None, none were safe among the lovely fair. 

The country round for many leagues had felt 

The loss of some fair daughter through his guile ; 

Beauty was of its early charms bereft. 
And virtue wrecked on dissipation's isle. 

Many fathers felt the fatal scourge 

Of ruin found to stain their hapless name ; 

When innocence fell o'er the fearful verge 
That blots forever woman's lovely fame. 



204 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

If parents had a fair and beauteous child, 

A daughter whom they proudly loved too dear, 

A thousand apprehensions, vague and wild, 

Would fill their hearts with constant dread and fear. 

For this proud monarch, where he cast his eye, 
And peerless beauty met his ardent gaze, 

That creature was his victim, by and by. 
And in his palace honor's forfeit pays. 

Should parents chance to be most lone and poor, 
He often would through bribes their daughter win; 

Resolved that plenty should combine with power 
And act as cover to seducing sin. 

But where those parents dwelt of virtuous mind. 
Who scorned his flimsy gold or proffered pelf, 

Whose holy love hung round their daughter kind, 
'Twas then they lost in her all fear for self; 

Ay, felt as though they fain would rather die 
Than see the ruin of that being dear ; 

Yet knew not where they could for safety fly. 

Since he, the wretch, had spies both far and near. 

And when the object could not well be won. 
Or he perceived his offers held at naught, 

'Twas then he ordered deeds perfidious done, 
To have her instant to his presence brought. 

And many a sorrowing, bleeding parent's heart 
Hath been compelled to yield the tender prize. 

And see in anguish that poor child depart 
To feast and glut a hateful monarch's eyes. 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 205 

And oft the destined lovely object clings 
To those dear forms by every filial tie ; 

With what despair a mother's heart she wrings 
When with the merciless vassals doomed to fly ! 

'Twas on a deep occasion such as this 

That forms the present subject of my muse, 

When this vile tyrant sought to mar the bliss 
Of child and father, as his fancy choose. 

One evening, as he with his vassals rode 

A distance to inhale the balmy air, 
He passed a humble cottager's abode 

And had a glimpse of his loved daughter fair. 

The sun had sunk on rolling clouds of gold 
Behind the broad blue fields of western light, 

A sight most pure and glorious to behold. 

And lingered o'er the soft approach of night. 

The monarch paused to gaze upon the scene. 
And marked the glowing beauty of the skies, 

As evening shadows gathered fast, serene. 
O'er painted hills that did in distance rise. 

Then, turning to a favorite minion, said, 

" How grand is nature in her wooing power ! 

Yon purple skies, how rich with gold inlaid, 
Dropping their luster o'er the evening hour ! 

" But mark, Regalius ! See'st thou yon hut 
Whose latticed window bears the merry vine? 

There lives a beauty most excelling — but 
I must obtain her, she must now be mine. 

18* 



206 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

" This is a scene, Eegalius," said the haughty king, 
"To waken dreams of love and fond desire; 

I would that thou to me this damsel bring 
Before the hour of midnight shall expire ! 

" Her father is a man discreet and chaste, 
Noble in purpose, bold in every vein ; 

Therefore your precious time you need not waste 
To ask this sire his daughter to resign. 

" He loves her with a more than doating mind; 

She is the very idol of his soul ! 
And she is perfect as her heart is kind ; 

No fairer beauty could man's wish control. 

" But I am stricken with her peerless charms, — 

A very angel lives she in my view ; 
To think of her the bliss of sleep disarms, — 

I must possess her, and that quickly too ! 

" 'Twas yester night, I wandered there alone, 
Just as the evening twilight spread around; 

I wore a slight disguise, yet of mine own. 
And soon myself within the cottage found. 

" Yet I could see some terror shade the brow 
Of that old man, and then the modest maid 

Looked trembling as she did before me bow, 
For they perceived a regal visit paid ! 

" When undisguised, I lavished words of praise 
Upon the lovely damsel as she knelt; 

And as her angel form I stooped to raise 
I felt as never soul of passion felt. 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 207 

" I from my finger drew a diamond ring, 
And fain would place it on her snowy hand, 

But she refused, and said, My gracious king, 
I am your slave, I own you can command : 

" But I would rather not the gem accept ; 

It suits not one so low in birth and state : 
Then, leaning on her father's arm, she wept. 

As though she felt some dark, approaching fate. 

"A sense of pity did with rapture blend, 

She looked so beauteous in her modest tears ; 

But then the maid would not her hand extend 
To take the ring your noble monarch wears." 

" The saucy minx I" the vile Regalius cried ; 

" She should have proudly pressed it to her heart ; 
But these low plebeians have a hateful pride, — 

It were but right for this to make her smart ! 

" Pruning, sometimes, will help a pretty vine, 
And bring it into majesty and shape ; 

And we can cause the sapling to incline 

The way we wish the stubborn thing to take. 

" Then what are your commands, my noble liege ? 

You know us ever ready to obey ; 
Shall we the mud-walled hut this night besiege 

And bear the lovely maid by force away ?" 

"Well, ye have ever proved my sturdy friends ! 

And now this fair and sweet retiring flower 
I would possess; then on ye all depends 

This night to bring the damsel in my power ! 



208 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

'* I know that gold and praise can never win 
This darling to my now enamored breast ; 

The father would revolt at lawless sin : 

Therefore 'tis strength alone can do it best. 

" Now I propose that ye shall patient wait 
Till midnight sends abroad her solemn peal, 

For it were better it should be thus late 
Ere ye attempt the lovely maid to steal. 

" Thus, when all nature round is calm and still, 
Go ye, and there the precious flower demand ; 

Tell him, the father, that it is my will. 
But use no cruel, weighty, ruffian hand. 

" I charge you well, my friends, to hurt them not, 
But tell the worthy, yet unwilling sire, 

His charming child is not to be forgot. 

Who did so late her monarch's love inspire. 

"And that I do request the beauteous maid 
To not oppose my royal mood of mind.; 

And if in points respectfully obeyed. 

She shall be treated by myself most kind ! 

" Then, if reluctant, they will not comply. 
Use force, without a movement too severe, 

And bring her to me, when my heart shall try 
To win her favor or excite her fear !" 

Thus was the message promptly conveyed, 
As soon as night the favoring hour brought ; 

They soon to the rustic habitation strayed. 

And soon the frightened, harmless inmates sought. 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 209 

How were their hearts now roused to deep alarm ! 

The father knew 'twere vain once to deny; 
Therefore, to save his lovely child from harm, 

He thought it best dissemblance to try. 

The daughter stood with wild distracted air, 

The very picture of Niobe's ghost; 
While on her shoulders hung her raven hair, 

Looking a victim to all reason lost ! 

" Stay !" said the father, with dissembling voice, 

" This is an honor I did not expect ; 
I feel most flattered by his views and choice ; 

I could not such a grand request reject ! 

" My daughter labors under great surprise ! 

If ye withdraw I will these views explain: 
She never yet my counsel did despise ; 

I think I can her willing answer gain. 

"Return and bear my answer to the king; 

Tell him, if he but till the morning wait, 
I will to him my child in person bring, 

In garments suited to her virgin state. 

" You see her robe is for the night's repose ; 

Nor did we dream of this, your visit kind ; 
But from her wardrobe she will truly choose 

Such garniture as we appropriate find. 

" Believe me, on the honor of a man, 

To-morrow I will to the king repair; 
Ere morning half its usual limits span 

My daughter and myself will sure be there.'* 



210 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

When thus assured, they hurried from the spot ; 

And to the king the faithful message bore ; 
While those chaste beings in the humble cot 

Were planning movements that importance wore. 

" What !" said the king, " I did not once suppose 
He calmly would the lovely prize resign ; 

But now, perchance, he condescension shows 
To gain some favor which to give is mine ! 

" Surprised I am, but this doth please me well ; 

His great submission shows a prudent mind, 
And I, to-morrow, will this father tell 

He may in me a generous sovereign find. 

" He knows I can transform his low estate, 
And help him up the lofty hill of fame ; 

'Tis I can make the lowly peasant great. 
And put a luster on the humblest name !" 

Thus ran the monarch's thoughts till soothing sleep 
Shut out all views of present and the past ; 

While dreams of future bliss hung long and deep 
Upon his mind, till morning came at last. 

AVhen high he sat on his imperial throne, 
With guards in waiting, and his vassals gay, 

Much splendor was on this occasion shown: 
He was resolved to grace the happy day. 

It was not long before the honored guests 
Appeared and drew toward the royal seat ; 

A thousand charms upon the maiden rests 
That would the pencil's skillful power defeat. 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 211 

The monarch thought such beauty ne'er before 
Had met his ardent and voluptuous gaze ; 

Her every grace a sweet enchantment wore 
That called forth accents of admiring praise. 

Robed in a simple tunic white as snow, 

While round her temples fair a blossomed wreath 

Of natal flowers reposed upon her brow, 

And mingled their perfume with her sweet breath. 

A velvet zone embraced her peerless waist, 

Adorned in front with one rich crescent pearl ; 

While o'er her shoulders brilliant, white, and chaste, 
Hung many a raven and luxuriant curl. 

Leaning upon her aged father's arm. 

With gentle steps they neared the royal throng. 
While greetings, most respectful, kind, and warm. 

Were offered as they slowly moved along. 

Rich swelling music now rose grand and soft 
Along the high arched roof of gothic pride. 

Sending its echoes in sweet strains aloft. 
Then on the ear in plaintive murmurs died-. 

Now hushed as they recline before the throne, 
The hoary sire essayed to humbly speak ; 

Said he, " Most noble liege ! we come to own 
Our grateful joy, and your kind blessing seek. 

" Here is my daughter, idol of my soul ! 

That you have honored by your regal choice ; 
I give her now, my liege, to your control : 

She gives consent with due submissive voice. 



212 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

" She is a treasure of the holiest kind, 

Which angels cherish and will e'er protect ! 

To yield her is a struggle great, I find ; 
But 'tis my king, and I cannot reject !" 

" Take her, my liege ! now to thy proffered hand 
Do I commit this pure and heavenly child ; 

And may the gods, that hear and understand, 
To future points and deeds be reconciled." 

" I own thou art most just," the king replied ; 

"A man of honor and of word direct ! 
Thy promise is fulfilled : I shall provide 

A good return through my profound respect." 

Now with a conquering smile and grateful air, 
That seemed to speak exulting things within. 

He slow descended from his regal chair 
To reach the hand he would ignoble win, 

Down the short flight of marble steps he came. 

In gorgeous dress, well decked with diamonds bright, 

And costly pearls, now much too vast to name, 
And music struck up anthems of delight. 

When, just as he leaned forth with royal grace 

To take the hand the aged father held 
In humble attitude in his to place. 

He to the earth the merciless monarch felled. 

The hoary sire a dagger had concealed 

Beneath his robe, and was resolved to give 

The deadly blow, for fate his heart had steeled ; 
He would not have his child a harlot live. 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 213 

And now, while o'er the fallen king they stood, 
Said he : " This is the point of which I named 

That Heaven would sanction, steeped in his own blood, 
Rather than see mj lovely child defamed." 

And as he held aloft the dagger's point. 
Still wreaking in the guilty tyrant's blood, 

Who can the scene that followed duly paint. 

As now the group amazed and wondering stood ? 

The king expired without a single groan ; 

But did his guards or vassals deign to weep ? 
Did they the fallen monarch's death bemoan. 

Or lead the father to some dungeon deep ? 

No, no ! they were rejoiced to see his end ! 

Oft had they wished to see the fatal hour 
That some most noble parent would befriend 

His injured child from his seducing power. 

But fear had ever marred the effort bold, 
Until our time-worn hero done the deed ; 

He was not to be won by threats or gold, 

And thus resolved the tyrant's heart should bleed. 

Now from the throng he bore his child away, 

While deaf'ning shouts rang through the stately hall; 

Not one avenger sought their steps to stay, 
But gloried all to see the monarch fall. 

19 



214 ODE TO SUMMER, 



ODE TO SUMMER. 



The morning breaks in beauty bright, 

The sun ascends the sky, 
And countless glorious charms delight 

And feast the wondering eye ! 

The fields are blest with summer flowers, 

The forests wave in green, 
And playful zephyrs fan the bowers, 

While blossoms peep between. 

The sweetest strains of music rest 

Upon the wakeful ear. 
From many a warbling tuneful guest 

That hails the pleasing year. 

Summer its cheering beauties bring; 

The lark is sporting by. 
She shakes the dew-drops from her wing. 

And mounts toward the sky. 

The merry insect, too, is gay, 
And kiss the laughing flowers ; 

The bee bears honeyed sweets away 
To gladden winter hours. 

Oh ! joyous nature ! could my heart 
In unison appear, ** 

My soul would bless the holy part, 
And dry the gushing tear. 



THE STRAWBERRY GIRL. 215 

But, dearest Hope, impart one ray 

To heal the bosom riven ; 
Come, banish darksome thoughts away, 

And point from earth to heaven ! 



-^^- 



THE STRAWBERRY GIRL. 

Here are strawberries ripe, here are strawberries fresh, 
From yon dear little garden just under the hill ; 

I must hasten to market and sell them for cash, 
For buy them I'm sure that somebody will! 

My dear little brothers and sisters at home 
Are waiting, in fond expectation, to see 

Me trip o'er the fields, when to meet me they come, 
And fold their arms round me with heart-loving glee. 

Sweet darlings ! I love them and pity them too ! 

No mother or father we have to be sure, 
But all that I can for to bless them I do, 
* And keep them from want and from hunger secure. 

Ah ! how I delight, while the soft soothing breeze 
Of summer steals over the landscape around, 

And kiss in their triumph the sweet nodding trees. 
Those broad spreading oaks which our cottage sur- 
round ! — 

To rise with the peep of the new-coming morn. 
While dew-drops enamel the buds and the flowers, 

And the lark's merry note from the sweet-scented thorn 
Is heard to the memory of night's closing hours ! 



216 THE STRAWBERRY GIRL. 

Then still while mj fingers are wet with the dew, 
And my bonnet is moistened with many a shower, 

I hasten my basket with fruit to renew, 

And am home ere the sun gilds our cottage or bower. 

The beauty of Summer, how soon it is past ! 

Yet Autumn returns still to furnish the plain; 
But seasons still bring me some blessings at last, 

And fill up my basket again and again. 

But Winter arrives, with its dreary domain. 

And blossoms and fruit they are plenty no more. 

But cold hollow winds, with sleet and with rain. 
Drift round our frail cottage and into the door. 

'Tis then, only then, that I mourn o'er our fate. 
For though I am oldest, I find it severe 

To provide for us all, though early and late 

We toil to make up this sad breach in the year. 

My dear little brothers and sisters they knit, 
I flourish the wheel as our mother had taught; 

And while all around in a circle we sit, 

I teach them as far as my knowledge is fraught. 

And many's the hour and many's the day 

That we live in sweet union of heart and desire, 

And all that we wish for, and all that we pray. 

Is that God will e'er bless us and lift our minds higher. 

And this He will do, in my heart I am sure ; 

We trust in His love through the gift of His son ; 
He knows we are friendless, He knows we are poor, 

And still will provide as He ever has done ! 



MIDNIGHT VIEW. 21 Y 

Then let dreary Winter in turn have its reign, 
From his hills in the north he may flourish awhile ; 

But soon gentle Spring, with its mild breath, again 
Will bid fettered nature in beauty to smile. 

Then, if I survive, with what merry delight 
Will I trip o'er the fields to yon favoring hill, 

And while the blue sky scarce unfolds its soft light, 
I will be there my strawberry basket to fill ! 



^MIDNIGHT VIEW. 

Behold, by myriad splendid orbs empearled, 
The unveiled moon in all her beauty rise ! 

Now soft her beams illume the weary world 
As slow she skims the sable vaulted skies. 

The distant plains are bathed in crystal dew, 

While o'er she throws her silvery floods of light ; 

A thousand glories wake the soul anew 

To themes of wonder and profound delight ! 

The voice of nature now is hushed in sleep, 

The busy hum of tumult now is o'er. 
And musing nymphs their midnight vigils keep, 

And wander noiseless through the silent hour. 

Now is the time for sweet prevailing thought 

To spread her wings and soar thro' mystic space. 

To grasp some view, through venturous vision sought, 
On memory's page to hold a lasting place. 
19* 



218 MIDNIGHT VIEW. 

Far through those starrj, glorious courts of light, 
Where angels walk in grand, harmonious awe, 

Would vision love to take her airy flight 

And some blest scene from heavenly impulse draw. 

What but a God can bid those planets roll 

In mighty order through yon boundless sphere. 

The thunder's voice, the lightning's flash control. 

While heaven's deep portals quake with seeming fear ? 

What but a God can hush the raging storm 
When angry billows form the roaring deep. 

And caverns, dark as midnight's direst form. 
Moan out a dirge o'er many a mariner's sleep? 

What but a God can bid the seasons change. 
And fading charms of nature bloom anew? 

What but a God can every plant arrange. 

And ceaseless wonders still hold out to view ? 

What but a God can plan the human mind. 
With every conduit perfect to the frame. 

Each organ, passion, structure, all combined 
To speak the greatness of the Author's name ? 

Yes, thou art all in all, unchanging God ! 

Thy boundless scepter sways from pole to pole ; 
United worlds must tremble at thy nod. 

And every creature own thy vast control ! 

Let infidels in murky caverns dwell 

Of blackest darkness^ far from human view 1 

They're but a cipher that remains to tell 

That wisdom, truth, and God they never knew. 



THE PEARL OP GREAT PRICE. 219 



THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. 

Diamonds they are bright to view, 
Gold is precious, silver too ; 
Yet these never can compare 
With the charms of virtue rare. 

Not Golconda's mines can boast, 
Nor the richest golden coast, 
Half the value of the mind 
To holy purity inclined. 

Not the shining stars above, 
Beaming from the courts of love. 
Can such beauty e'er impart 
As the spotless, perfect heart. 

But this treasure, bright and fair. 
Sacred pearl beyond compare. 
Is but seldom to be found 
On Earth's vain, delusive ground. 

But there is a future sphere 
Where we can the treasure wear, 
If the soul to grace be given. 
And secures a home in heaven ! 



220 THE HUMMING-BIRD. 



THE HUMMING-BIRD. 



Little creature ! gaylj sporting 
Through yon beds of gaudy flowers, 

Now and then the sweetest courting, 
Ranging to beguile the hours. 

Gold and purple, green and blue, 
Is thy plumage to the eye ; 

Sure, to paint thy every hue 
Vainly would the pencil try. 

Thou seemest like some spirit fairy. 
Dancing from their mossy cells ; 

Thy figure is so light and airy. 
Music with thee constant dwells. 

And in many a honied cup 

Dippest thou thy buzzing wing; 

Drinking all the nectar up 

Summer's gentle showers bring. 

And I wonder, little creature ! 

Kissing every flower in view. 
In thy giddy rounds of nature, 

Thou dost not sip poison too ? 

But thy pin-like bill is cautious 
In thy ramblings, there's no doubt, 

Shunning wisely all the nauseous, 
Choosing all the fairest out ! 



THE SNOW-STORM. 221 

A lesson to the moral mind 

Thy merry rovings may impart ; 

In good or evil which to find 

The sweetest solace for the heart. 



THE SNOW-STOEM. 

A TALE. 

Cold, cold and dreary was the night, 

And sleet was falling fast ; 
The moon and stars shut out their light, 

And piercing was the blast ! 

Around the lofty mountain's brow 

The snow in clusters hung, 
While through the forest vales below 

The tempest loudly rung. 

There, there a weary traveler stood 

Benighted in the storm. 
While chilling horrors froze the blood 

Of his bewildered form ! 

Long, long he called for help in vain ; 

No kindly aid was near ; 
And felt the joys of home again 

He never more would share. 

He thought of those dear beings who 

Were waiting his return. 
And well his dying feelings knew 

The tale they soon must learn. 



222 THE SNOW-STORM. 

" Oh, God !" he said, while deep despair 

Hung o'er his frantic mind ; 
" Be thou a guardian angel fair 

O'er those I leave behind ! 

" No more will my Addella bless 

My loving, anxious sight. 
Or darling children e'er caress 

Their father with delight." 

Now fainting with fatigue and fear, 

He yielded to the blast 
And sank to earth ; but God was near, 

His arms were round him cast ! 

Just then a woodman and his son 
Were onward, homeward bound, 

Their faithful labors being done, — 
They here the traveler found. 

"Ah, George, my son ! look here !" he cries ; 

"A traveler in the snow ! 
Come, bear him home — quick — ere he dies ! 

Kind help we must bestow !" 

Then to the cottage swift they bore 
Their now quite senseless guest, 

While warm and healing draughts they pour 
Upon his senseless breast. 

Blest hour of safety ! soon they see 

His manly form revive; 
Yet more surprised by far was he 

To find himself alive ! 



THE SNOW-STORM. 223^ 

" Come here, my faithful friends," he said ; 

" For this your kindly care, 
You have reaped blessings on my head, 

And shall my fortune share ! 

"A wife and children home I have ! 

Through Heaven's protecting power 
You did a dying creature save. 

And shall be poor no more ! 

" The lordly heights of Glenvill stand 

Not many miles from here ; 
If some conveyance be at hand, 

Ere long we can be there." 

"What !" said the woodman, with surprise, 

" Have we Lord Glenvill saved ? 
I would for him 'neath winter skies 

Ten thousand storms have braved ! 

" Thy noble soul, some years ago, 

A kindness done for me ; 
When bound in captive chains I know 

'Twas thou that set me free ! 

" Blest Heaven ! how I value this 

Defending, sacred hour !" 
Said Maurice, as he stooped to kiss 

His bosom o'er and o'er. 

" Hold !" said Glenvill; "thou must not ! 

This homage I deny ! 
Let one thing never be forgot, 

'Twas God saved thou and I !" 



224 THE SNOW-STORM. 

Now onward to the castle they, 

Through pelting storm of snow and rain, 

With grateful hearts soon bend their way, 
And soon its cheering threshold gain. 

Yet scarce the portal bell had rung, 
When wide the hall doors open flew ; 

And meeting hearts with rapture flung 
Their arms around the neck they knew. 

The husband, father, now is blest 
Among his own domestic joys; 

While Maurice proves a daily guest 
Among a band of charming boys. 

His lonely cottage on the moor 
Is now a smiling, pleasant seat; 

He feels himself no longer poor, 
And loves his story to repeat. 

And travelers, as they pass along, 

Or in his mansion rest awhile. 
May hear him chant his grateful song 

With many a gladdening tear and smile. 

And well he may adore the hour 

The sinking traveler crossed his way. 

Since through Lord Glenvill's favoring power, 
Successive pleasures crown each day. 

And now, when winti^jr storms hang o'er 
Their stately home and forests round. 

They venture o'er the frozen moor 
To see if wanderers may be found. 



THE ORrHAN GIRL. 225 

And often strangers there are led 

To share their kind and generous care; 

While blessings fall on Glenvill's head 
Who placed the friendly mansion there. 



-x^^ 



THE ORPHAN GIRL. 

Come, stranger, and pity a child of distress ; 

'Tis painful to ask you I own, 
But the least that you give will my aching heart bless, 

An orphan I am and alone ! 

My parents and friends, they, alas ! are all dead, 

A poor little stranger I be ; 
There are none to watch o'er my defenseless head. 

And neglected I am, you may see ! 

I am willing to labor from morning tiH night. 

And do all I can in my way ; 
I strive for to please and do all that is right. 

And love, if I can, to look gay ! 

I never encourage a frown on my brow. 

Or suffer my heart to feel sad. 
When I really can help it, but now 

I have nothing to make me look glad. 

If I had a mother, as others have got. 

How blest would my spirit appear ! 
Though ever so poor, I am sure I would not 

Give a murmur throughout the whole year. 
20 



226 THE ORPHAN GIRL. 

How proud and how cheerful each day would I be, 

And grateful to Heaven above, 
That had granted a blessing so great and so free, 

As a mother's protection and love ! 

A mother, whose eloquent voice would impart 

A knowledge of Heaven and truth 
As minutes rolled on, to teach mj joung heart 

Immortal perfection in youth. 

My once-loving parents were Christians, but they 
Have gone to the shades of the grave ! 

And how can I ever look merry or gay 
Since left a cold world thus to brave ? 

We lived in a mansion most richly attired, 

And fortune propitiously smiled ; 
Yet little they thought, when caressed and admired, 

Of the fate of their now orphan child. 

A faithless guardian, of reckless heart, 

In mask had my parents deceived ; 
He promised to act a most fatherly part 

When of them my young soul was bereaved. 

" Our child ! oh our child ! I pray you protect !" 
Was the language they breathed ere they fled ; 

^* Be father, be guardian, ah ! never neglect 
Our orphan when we are both dead !" 

The promise was pledged ; but how vain 

Are the boasting afl'ections of man ! 
Scarce in the cold tomb were the twain, 

When my ruin of fortune began ! 



GIVE THE HAND. 22*? 

He early contrived to involve the estate 

My kind-hearted parents had left ; 
The depth of his fraud was discovered too late, — 

Of my fortune I soon was bereft ! 

And thus on the cold-hearted world I am cast, 

A poor little child of despair ; 
Yet hope that my trials will not always last, 

For they truly are too much to bear ! 

And if God in his mercy will bow down his ear 

To an orphan so feeble and lone, 
I pray my vile guardian e'en yet may appear 

And be sorry for all he hath done. 

And I'm sure if his merciless heart should relent, 
When he comes to our own native shore, 

I will bless in my soul the prophetic event, 
And pardon him though I am poor. 



-^.^- 



GIYE THE HAND. 

Say, dost thou see yon haggard form, 

With hollow eye and pallid cheek ? 
That is a soul by sorrow torn. 

As doth his every look bespeak ! 
Misfortune hath beset his fate 

Here in a strange and foreign land,- 
Then shall we not his woes abate. 

And take him kindly by the hand ? 



228 GIVE THE HAND. 

Say, dost thou see yon wretched soul 

With bloated visage, swollen eye. 
Whose heart drinks in potations foul 

As though he ne'er were born to die ? 
Say, shall we pass his palsied frame 

Or let it o'er perdition stand. 
Nor breathe to him the Saviour's name, 

Or take that brother by the hand ? 

And what is that breaks on our ear 

In murmurs low and sadly wild ? 
List, list ! it is the lonely prayer 

Of yonder trembling orphan child ! 
Then shall we with a bosom cold, 

Regardless or unfeeling stand. 
While we their suffering wants behold ? 

Ah, no ! go take them by the hand ! 

And yonder, see, a stricken heart, 

A creature of abandoned fame, 
Who, through vain man's beguiling art, 

Is bowed in sorrow and in shame ! 
Then shall we not, for pity's sake. 

Here in a fair and Christian land. 
This poor deluded sister take 

In loving kindness by the hand ? 

How solemn that a world so fair, 

So grandly beautiful and true, 
Should such unfeeling spirits bear 

As sometimes fall before our view ! 
But vanity and self-conceit 

Soon gives the heart to understand 
Why we the poor so seldom greet 

Or take the suffering by the hand ! 



TRY AGAIN. 



229 



Alas ! that we should e'er forget 

Those holy virtues once displayed, 
Or that sweet, bright example set 

By Him who rich and poor hath made I 
But frail and fickle is the mind 

In every nation, every land ; 
Pride makes the human heart unkind 

And closes up the generous hand. 

Away, then, with these mincing traits — 

A delicacy false as foul ! 
A thing the Holy Spirit hates. 

Who bids us try and save the soul I 
No matter how depraved or lost. 

How poor or mean, when calls demand, 
It is our duty at the most 

To offer them the Christian hand ! 



TRY AGAIN ! 

Dear reader, will you from a friend 

A moral caution take? 
When common ills of life descend 

Your pleasant dreams to break, 
And spoil your airy castles vain. 
Don't pause to grieve, but try again ! 

Do not despair when things go wrong, 
Nor come up to the letter. 

For should you grieve for hours long 
It makes the thing no better ; 
20* 



230 THE mariner's bride. 

But up, and shake the morbid brain, — 
*Tis wise, I say, to try again ! 

Don't ever pause to pheese or fret 
O'er trials that beset you ; 

'Tis moral courage not to let 
Provoking matters fret you ; 

But when your hopes are burst in twain, 

Rouse up and try your scheme again ! 

If still appalling ills arise, 

Your views through life undoing, 

Sail patient under cloudy skies, 
We knew not what is brewing ; 

For blessings yet may fall like rain, — 

Then up, and bravely try again ! 

There was a worthy man of old. 
And Job they call his name. 

Did ever crushing fate unfold 
More ills to mortal frame ? 

Yet did these troubles fall in vain ? 

No, no, my friend : then try again ! 



THE MARINER'S BRIDE. 

To the waves ! to the waves ! the bark, love, is waiting 

Yes waiting, my dearest, for thee! 
The stars from their chambers of glory are waking, 

And music steals over the sea ! 



THE mariner's BRIDE. 

How sweet and how chaste is this evening hour, 

Now laden with richest perfume ! 
The nightingale's note is heard in the bower, 

Which moonbeams in beauty illume. 

And now on the voiceless bosom of night 

Doth wearied nature repose ; 
And this is the time, dearest love, for our flight, — 

'Tis a moment to win or to lose ! 

Then away ! yes, away ! to the barge we must fly. 

And paddle across the soft sea. 
While the stars hang like beautiful lamps in the sky, 

Their holy light shedding on thee. 

Thy father, my love, will early pursue 

His fugitive daughter ; then come 
And lean on this bosom that's faithful and true, 

'Tis thy refuge, thy shelter, thy home ! 

But soon o'er the voiceless, trembling deep, 
Silvered now by the moon's gentle light, 

Our barge, love, shall swiftly, merrily sweep 
To a land of unfolding delight ! 

A land of sweet fruits and fair flowers, 

Enchantingly rich to behold. 
Where birds gayly sing through the bowers. 

In plumage of purple and gold. 

There, there on the zephyrs of night. 

Sweetest strains of soft music arise 
To ravish the soul with delight. 

As their echo rolls back from the skies ! 



232 THE LOCK OF HAIR, 

Then awaj ! then awaj to the lake ! 

To the barge that is waiting for thee ! 
We must fly, ere the morning beams break, 

Far, far o'er the silver-lit sea ! 



-^^- 



THE LOCK OF HAIR. 

'Tis nothing but a lock of hair 

Of gray or silver hue 
Yet that one tress I would not spare 

For all far-famed Peru ! 

Ah, yes ! and how I guard the prize, 

With what devoted care, 
Lest it might vanish from my eyes — 

That little lock of hair ! 

And such associations, too. 

Come crowding o'er the mind ! ' 

It brings a darling face to view, 
Once sweetly true and kind. 

A visage that will fondly be. 

In coloring deep and fast. 
Impressed on holy memory 

While time and life shall last. 

Ah, yes ! I see in vision clear, 
As in those moments gone. 

That tender, loving bosom dear 
I once could lean uj^on ! 



THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 233 

And if oppressed with pain or care, 

Her lips would then impart 
A sweetly kind and soothing prayer 

While leaning near her heart. 

And then how often could I see 

Upon her angel cheek 
The tear of silent agony 

When I of woe would speak ! 

Then is it any wonder, pray. 

That I should guard with care 
This little lock of silver gray ? 

It is my mother's hair ! 



-m^ 



THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 

Would you wish to be happy and never grow sad, 

For glooom is a terrible pest? 
I'll tell you the manner the thing can be had. 

And leave you to manage the rest. 

Encourage a heart of devotion and love ; 

Live meekly, humble, and plain ; 
Have an eye to the pure and truthful above ; 

Nor sigh after things that are vain. 

Never turn from the voice of the poor in distress. 
Even though you have little to spare ; 

The mite you bestow may make suffering less, 
For the action is more than the share. 



234 THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. 

If the child of misfortune should fall in thy way, 

And call for protection and aid, 
Let thy voice in a spirit of love be a stay. 

And lead back the soul that hath strayed. 

Never fly from affliction or heart-rending woe, 

'Tis wicked as well as unkind ; 
If we can but a word of affection bestow 

It proves a relief to the mind. 

Be honest and truthful, discourage vain pride, 
Keep conscience unsullied and clear ; 

Let the mind be with holy reflections supplied. 
And banish all cowardly fear. 

But why thould I offer to hint this or that ? 

'Tis folly perhaps while I try ! 
Yet what moral conscience should aim to be at — 

" Is to do as we would be done by." 

A sermon is taught in this one little line, 

Which if we would heed and obey. 
We seldom would find real caase to complain. 

And life would glide happy away. 

Yea, if we could practice this one golden rule — 
That is, do all the good that we can — 

We then could live cheerful in nature's broad school, 
And sweetly lengthen life's span. 

For what is it harrows and troubles the mind 

But a conscience most illy at rest ? 
The truthfully good and the poor we e'er find 

Carry with them a cloudless breast. 



THE FATAL RING. 235 



THE EATAL RING, 

OR 

THE RESCUED BRIDE. 
A HISTORICAL TALE. 

In Switzerland there lived a prince 
Of mighty wealth and power ; 

Greater were none before nor since — 
So says the page of yore. 

For many slumbering years ago 
This tale of truth occurred, 

Though many minds may curious grow 
And doubt my sacred word. 

But as from history I will touch, 
Whose inference seems plain, 

I would not have some doubt too much, 
Or deem my efforts vain. 

I say in Switzerland there dwelt 

A prince of great estate, 
Whose passions were most keenly felt, 

Whether of love or hate. 

Most bold was he, intrepid, brave, 
When on the plains of war ; 

In peace he was sedate and grave ; 
A smile he seldom wore. 



236 THE FATAL RING. 

Yet not a "Bluebeard" quite was he, 

Perchance not so severe, 
That many wives should murdered be. 

Through jealousy or fear. 

Still jealousy, that demon trait, 

Was half his nature's own ; 
Although so wealthy, proud, and great. 

Few friends to him were known. 

His courtiers were a flattering train, 

Whose sycophantic skill 
Filled up his mind with notions vain. 

And humored much his will. 

Grandeur and pomp have their own charms. 
And cover much that's vile ; 

Ay, half the demon spell disarms, 
For gold can win the smile. 

Crowds filled his halls ; the lovely fair 

His banquets did surround. 
And many a noble lady there 

Gay entertainment found. 

And one, at last, most beauteous came, 

She won his royal mind ; 
Zuona was her gentle name, 

A being chaste and kind. 

Lovely in all her perfect grace, 

With spirit mild and meek. 
An angel smile lit up her face. 

And health glowed on her cheek. 



THE FATAL RING. 237 

He loved her with heroic zeal, 

And gained her willing hand'; 
None would have thought his heart of steel 

Such love could e'er command. 

The nuptials past, the feasting o'er, 
Weeks, months, they flew away, 

While his devotion seemed the more 
Increased each new-born day. 

But ere a single year had fled 

Fate figured in the scene ; 
Connubial joys and hopes were dead, 

Nor days rolled on serene. 

A beauteous page of winning form, 

And modest talents rare. 
Now caused a matrimonial storm 

And did its horrors share. 

He was the princess' favored page. 

And most attractive proved. 
As now he grew to manhood's age, 

And in her presence moved. 

He loved with feelings virtuous, true, 

His noble lady fair ; 
When wanted, swift on wings he flew 

As light as desert air. 

Obedient, ever at command, 

Her kind esteem he won. 
And presents from her generous hand 

Adorned this humble son. 
21 



238 THE FATAL RING. 

The prince did not yet disapprove 
Of presents thus bestowed, 

For he himself the page did love, 
Who such obedience show'd. 

Yet oft he thought a partial smile 

And well-approving eye 
Would rest upon the youth the while 

He stood in waiting by. 

But then this dream would hurry past, 
When her endearing arms 

Would round his lordly neck be cast, — 
Then love renewed its charms. 

Now when Zuone became a bride 
The prince a present made ; 

A wedding-ring, with gems supplied, 
For which vast sums were paid. 

The diamonds were of richest kind. 
Excelling, chaste, and bright. 

Such as few mortals seldom find ; 
They shone like stars of night. 

Yet many rings the princess wore 

Of rare and costly kind. 
But this, of course, was valued more 

Than all the rest combined. 

As it had been the wedding gift, 
She guarded it with care. 

Would seldom from the casket lift 
This precious gem to wear. 



THE FATAL RING. 

Nor could we wonder much at this, 
So rich and bright a token, 

Lest she the costly gift might miss, 
Or have it rudely broken. 

One day she laid the valued gem 

Upon her toilet gay 
With other pearls, intending them 

Soon to be put away. 

But fate doth many changes bring, 

And so it happened then, 
For gone was now the wedding-ring, 

And how unknown, or when. 

Alarmed at this most strange event, 
The prince she feared to tell ; 

Then for her trusty maid she sent, 
One whom she knew full well. 

" Bartenia, I am in distress. 
And much I need thy aid ; 

If thou wilt strive my hopes to bless, 
Thou nobly shalt be paid ! 

"My wedding-ring is gone! and I 
Cannot tell how or where ; 

I laid it on yon toilet, by 
Those other jewels there. 

" It is mysterious ! ne'er a thief 
Could here an entrance gain ; 

And if they did, why let the chief 
Of jewels here remain ? 



240 THE FATAL RING. 

" One would in common wit suppose 
The whole had been their prize, 

Nor would this valued necklace lose 
So glittering to the eyes. 

" Bartenia, I am nearly crazed ! 

The prince will madly rave 
If he should learn the gem is seized, 

Since he the token gave ! 

"And then his mandate when he placed 

It on my proffered hand, 
His own, before, it long had graced, 

And this was his command: 

" ' Regard this ring, love, as thy life ! 

It is of princely worth ! 
A regal gem, none but a wife. 

And one most loved on earth, 

" ' Should wear a treasure thus so dear 
And high in my esteem ; 

Its loss, by all the powers, I fear 
With sad events would teem !' 

" So now, Bartenia, canst thou plan 
Some way for my relief? 

Find out, dear girl, if that thou can, 
The mystery or the thief. 

" But do not breathe a word aloud ; 

Use caution, gentle maid ; 
The sad affair at present shroud 

Till further plans be laid. 



THE FATAL RING. 241 

"Yet watch the vassals, one and all ; 

Take notice of their ways, 
For oft a word or look may fall 

That certain guilt betrays. 

"And should the least impression make 

The guilty creature known, 
I would, for virgin mercy's sake, 

Have sweet compassion shown. 

" So I can only gain the ring, 

I would forgive the deed ; 
But if 'tis brought before the king, 

Their fate will surely bleed ! 

" Now who could in my chamber come, 

And nothing take beside ? 
Bartenia, ah ! it must be some 

One in these walls supplied! 

" I feel most sorry to accuse. 

But must my ring obtain, 
And will not one exertion lose 

To have it once again ! 

" The gem is of mysterious make. 

Its value too so great. 
It would suspicion soon awake 

When out of regal state ! 

" Therefore, Bartenia, strive, I pray. 

To find out who could feel 
So thoughtless as to take away 

What would their ruin seal I 
21* 



242 THE FATAL RING. 

*' I trust some of mj maids have thought 

The trinket I could spare, 
Nor knew with what events 'twere fraught, 

And claimed it for their share. 

" Knowing how many hrilliants shine 

Within my wardrobe gay. 
Have thought it were a gem, in fine, 

Not much to take away. 

" But now be still a little while ; 

Perhaps some hours may throw 
Light on this solemn trick of guile, 

And us the robber show !" 

" Perchance, my noble lady fair, 
The prince hath in his play 

The ring, thy lovely self to scare, 
In jest removed away !" 

"Ah, no ! my own Bartenia, no ! 

He doth no mischief court ; 
He would not plunge my heart in woe 

Through mean or wanton sport. 

" He knows how much the gem I prize, 

And were it out of sight. 
Its very absence would surprise 

And fill my soul with fright. 

*' Therefore the prince hath never took 
The treasure, that I know ! 

He would not to gross trifling brook, 
Or fruitless pain bestow. 



THE FATAL RING. 243 

" So now, Bartenia, mind me well, 

And act a searching part ; 
That ring doth with some maiden dwell, 

I fear, of treacherous heart !" 

Some days rolled on ; no tidings met 

The anxious lady's ear, 
And not one ray of light as yet 

Fell on the dark affair. 

One evening, while the sun's last ray 

Hung o'er the western tower, 
And summer zephyrs sweetly they 

Were borne upon the hour, — 

The princess on the terrace strayed 

To hail the lovely scene ; 
Nature, in glowing charms arrayed, 

Was beauteous and serene ! 

When suddenly her lord drew nigh 

With strange, mysterious air ; 
With passion gleamed his jealous eye. 

His visage spoke despair. 

'' Zuona, I have much to say, 

And that to thee alone ; 
A certain circumstance to-day 

Hath turned my heart to stone ! 

" Where is thy ring — the wedding-ring 

I proudly gave to thee ? 
Go thou the regal gem and bring, 

I wish the gift to see !" 



244 THE FATAL RING. 

And while he spoke, a savage smile 

He did upon her raise, 
That made her gentle heart recoil 

And shrink before his gaze ! 

" Ha, ha!" said he ; " thy guilt is plain ! 

Why tremblest thou, and weep ? 
Would I a siren heart retain 

Or in possession keep ? 

'^ Did I not charge thee, when the band 

Of Hymen made us one, 
And placed that ring upon thy hand, — 

Such as but monarchs own, — 

" To guard it with thy very life? 

And did I not believe 
Thee worthy, as my regal wife. 

The token to receive ? 

" But thou art false ! I long have strove 
To hide my doubts and fears ; 

I find our page secures thy love, 
And he the tribute wears ! 

" Not yet hath passed one lingering hour 

Since he before me came, 
And by all holy virgin power, 

His finger bore the same ! 

" I feigned the treasure to admire, 
While I retained his hand ; 

And sickened while I did inquire 
How he did it command. 



THE FATAL RING. 245 

"A paltry, vile excuse he made, 

And said he found the gem ; 
That it beneath the branches laid 

Of yonder towering elm: 

" That while beneath its wooing shade 

He on the turf reclined, 
The ring its brilliant form displayed 

Where flowers were thick entwined : 

" That he had seized it, and did place 

It on his willing hand, 
Until the owner he could trace, 

Who might the gem demand. 

" Now this is sure a likely tale 

To place before my view, — 
A very theme that could not fail 

To jealous pangs renew ! 

"Are wedding-rings so plenty they 

Among the posies grow. 
Or scattered o'er the turf they lay 

And in the sunbeams glow ? 

" However, I have fixed the point ; 

He on the rack shall go ! 
I'll tear him every limb from joint 

But what the truth I'll know ! 

" What ! thinkest thou I am so blind 

And ignorant, forsooth. 
As not to mark thee over-kind 

To that poor plebeian youth ? 



246 THE FATAL RING. 

" Yea, I have watched thy sunny smile 

And sly prevailing look ; 
But thou didst cloak a heart of guile 

As snugly as a book ! 

" Presents of lordly value thou 

Hast given to the page ; 
The meaning I ne'er knew, till now 

The ring comes on the stage ! 

" Yet would these favors not suffice 
Thy young and amorous mind ? 

Thy love must be too over-nice 
And generously inclined ! 

" When regal rings of honor shine 

Upon a page's paw, 
That should alone grace proudly thine- 

What import must I draw?" 

" Oh, prince ! thy angry passion stay ! 

The ring some mystery veils ! 
It was e'en lost or borne away; 

But fate the subject seals ! 

"I know not, cannot tell, my lord 1" 
Tl e trembling princess cried ; 

While anguish choked her every word 
And flowed the weeping tide. 

"That token of united love, 

With other jewels rare, 
I from my casket did remove 

Intending them to wear. 



THE FATAL RING, .24t 

" But absent for a transient space, 

When I returned again, 
The ring was^taken from the place 

While all the rest remain. 

" I was alarmed and called my maid 

Bartenia; when she came 
I told her where the pearls I laid, — 

She knew naught of the same. 

*' Her virtuous, kind, and honest heart 

Hath vainly strove to learn 
Some clew to this mysterious part ; 

But none could yet discern. 

"I feared to let your highness know, 

Lest you might wrathful be. 
And say the accident did flow 

Through carelessness in me. 

"And trusting still from day to day. 

That chance would soon reveal 
The thief who bore the prize away, 

I did the secret seal. 

" But, oh ! prophetic saints ! I ne'er 

Had thought a jealous pang 
Did in your noble breast appear, 

Or o'er your memory hang !" 

"A vaunt! seal up thy lying lips ! 

They drop but venom foul, 
Such as alone the devil sips, — 

Thou mad'nest my soul ! 



248 THE FATAL RING. 

" Dost thou suppose a slj-born thief 
Would wear a trophy gay, 

Before his mighty prince and chief, 
In open, glaring day ? 

*' Would he not hide his glittering prize 
Erom general human view, 

Nor come before the owner's eyes 
With marked presumption too ? 

*' It ne'er was stolen ! if it were 
How came it in the turf — 

And he alone should find it there ? 
This tale afibrds me mirth !" 

Now in the tower he led her on : 
Said he, " Now follow me ! 

The page will love to look upon 
Thy marriage destiny!" 

And soon he to the chamber led 
His trembling, weeping bride, 

Whose soul with every horror bled ; 
She there the page espied, — 

Whose face was pictured in despair ; 

His bloodless visage threw 
One glance upon his lady fair. 

Then at their feet he flew, 

Craving to know for what or why 
He there was captive made. 

Or why 'neath tortures doomed to die 
For wrongs against him laid. 



THE FATAL RING. 249 

"Have I not," said the noble youth, 

" In constancy and love 
Filled up my part with spotless truth 

And e'er obedient prove ? 

" What wrong is it that I have done ? 

I cannot call to mind 
One single instance — no, not one — 

Where I have dealt unkind." 

" That very love hath been too deep," 

The scornful prince replied, 
" Since gems upon thy fingers creep, 

Bestowed by this, my bride !" 

Too much for innocence was this ; 

The youth he fainting fell ; 
He felt the blight of earthly bliss 

Through some demonic spell. 

And now the prince, whose iron mind 

All sympathy defied, 
Constructions of the vilest kind 

Placed on his beauteous bride. 

Thinking the page had sunk through guilt 

At being now betrayed. 
He little cared what blood he spilt, 

And thus his wrath displayed. 

Soon as the fainting youth revived, 

And sense again returned. 
He with demonic skill contrived 

To prove a plot discerned. 

22 



250 THE FATAL RING. 

Said he, " I have by well-planned art 
Found out your lecherous schemes, 

For which you both shall feel the smart ; 
My soul with vengeance teems ! 

" You to the painful, torturing rack 
Shall there your crimes confess ; 

While you, Zuone, the air shall track 
To make your sufferings less ! 

" Down from this tower window, know, 
You'll instantly be thrown 

Into the rolling flood below ; 
No mercy shall be shown !" 

Now with a fiendly grasp he seized 
Her by the waist, and threw 

Her o'er the window sash he raised 
From his demonic view. 

Then turned he to the speechless page, 
Who horror-struck now stood. 

With eyes wild flashing fire and rage 
That froze the poor youth's blood. 

" Mind ! soon thy lonely doom is sealed, 
So give thyself to prayer, 

For ere the midnight hour hath pealed 
Thou must for death prepare !" 

Then drawing firm each bolt and bar, 

He swiftly fled away. 
Intending 'neath the evening star 

This injured youth to slay. 



THE FATAL RING. 251 

He to his private chamber flew 

And closed himself within, 
His deeds of dark revenge to view, 

Of murder's foulest sin. 

But not an hour had passed awav, 

When at the portal gate 
A hermit stood, both aged and gray, 

Who on the prince would wait. 

He was a favorite, but they said 

The prince no one would see ; 
The hermit cried, " I must be led 

To him immediately !" 

Then soon they showed him to their lord, 

When, bending to the earth. 
Said he, ''I bring your highness word 

That will to joy give birth! 

*' Your noble mind has been a prey 

To very serious grief; 
From sad events within a day, 

I hope I bring relief? 

" I heard a valued ring was lost. 

And with your page was found, 
A trinket of amazing cost. 

E'en many a thousand pound. 

" Now, prince, this morning while I sat 

Beneath my humble vine, 
I in my window placed my hat 

While I should calmly dine. 



252 THE FATAL RING. 

"A silver buckle that I wear, 

And glistens at its side, 
Did lure a thieving magpie there, — 

The trinket he espied. 

" Now pecking, trying hard to gain 

The buckle, mad he grew 
Because he could not it obtain, 

Then swift away he flew. 

" I now untied the band, and let 

The buckle loose and free, 
When soon returned the craving pet 

And bore it to a tree. 

" Then up I mounted, though I'm old ; 

I felt some strange belief 
That made me more than over-bold, 

To watch this feathered thief. 

" Then farther on I strove to rise. 

At last the summit gained ; 
When scarce could I believe my eyes 

At what his nest contained. 

" Now, noble prince, I did not touch 

An object that was there. 
But wish for you to see it much, — 

The sight will make you stare !" 

" How V said the prince ; " 'tis strange indeed ! 

I'll to the lofty tree. 
And have it brought away with speed ! 

Come, hermit, thou with me! 



THE FATAL RING. 253 

*' Some mighty feelings crowd my soul ! 

Can this discovery mean 
Most strange results to now unroll ? 

I almost dread the scene !" 

Swift to the topmost waving bough 

A speedy hand was sent, * 

While he impatient stood below 
To watch the strange event. 

Soon down the twiggy storehouse came, 

They held it to his view, 
But his surprise no pen can name, 

His deep confusion too ! 

'Twas evident this was the sly 

And busy thief at play, 
Who did the wedding-ring descry 

And bore the prize away. 

For jewels of most costly kind 

Now lined this roguish nest, 
While there the prince made out to find 

A pearl he long had missed. 

He also found a valued seal 

He lost a year before. 
With gems, the artful rogue did steal, 

The maids of honor wore. 

Now what confirmed the whole affair, 

'Twas on this very ground 
The page did solemnly declare 

The diamond ring he found. 
22* 



254 THE FATAL RING. 

The feathered thief had let it fall 

Near by the page's feet, 
Nor could again the gem recall 

To bear to his retreat. 

Now was the prince inured to shame, 
His brain with anguish riven ; 

How did he now his fury blame 
And pardon ask of Heaven ! 

He to the gentle hermit told 
His horrid, murderous tale, 

That jealousy had made him bold 
And now his doom would seal. 

He cried, "Oh! had this come to light 
Ere this dark, fatal hour, 

My fair Zuone, my heart's delight, 
I should not now deplore ! 

" Gods ! what a wretch do I appear ! 

My conscience swims in blood ; 
Oh ! could I from my vision tear 

The sight I have withstood ! 

" Henceforth I'll from the palace fly, 

And, penitent, repair 
To some kind shielding convent nigh 

And live in ceaseless prayer. 

" Forever will the murdered ghost 

Of my Zuona dwell 
O'er wretched memory, tempest tost, 

And form a perfect hell ! 



THE FATAL RING. 255 

" But now to poor Albaddin's fate, 

My humble, trusty page, — 
A thousand years were now too late 

His injuries to assuage !" 

Soon was the noble youth reprieved; 

The prince hung on his breast 
And wept aloud, for much he grieved 

For every error past. 

^'Grieve not," the brave Albaddin said, 

^'My noble, princely lord! 
Had I have died I should have prayed 

For you with life's last word. 

" I know that passion did oppose 

Your reason and your soul. 
That every misery round us rose 

From jealousy most foul ! 

"And deep in prayer my spirit dwelt'; 

I felt resigned to die. 
All the reluctance that I felt 

Was that I knew not why. 

"I was to sudden slaughter doomed, 

When I had ever strove 
To fill the office I assumed, 

With gratitude and love. 

" I know I did not merit death 

Through any guilty deed, 
Yet was resolved my dying breath 

For thee should intercede, — 



256 THE FATAL RING. 

"Before the high and holy throne 
Where kings and princes reign, 

That when death's triumph should be known 
We then might meet again." 

"Ah ! noble, brave Albaddin, thou 

Art great in soul, I own ! 
A demon I have been, but now 

That spirit fiend hath flown ! 

" Like Saul of Tarsus, now I feel 

The lion in me slain ; 
Like him my soul was hard as steel. 

Nor pity could contain. 

" But oh, Zuone ! my poor Zuone ! 

Albaddin, this is more 
Than I can ever for atone, — 

I did her heart adore 1 

"Till jealousy and hatred rose. 
Like blackened ghosts of hell, 

To break my spirit's best repose 
While they o'er vision fell ! 

"But to the convent I will fly, 

And in repentance seek 
That comfort Heaven can supply 

And renders to the meek. 

No more a page thou now shalt be, 
But my own bosom friend ! 
A title I will give to thee. 
And riches at command. 



THE FATAL RING. 25T 

" Had I have torn thy tender limbs 

On that accurst machine,- 
In one of my relentless whims, 

Still worse my fate had been ! 

" Take thou my palace in thy care. 

With all my princely train. 
While I to other climes repair : 

I cannot here remain ! 

"A little while abroad I'll go 

To take one parting view 
Of this unhappy world of woe. 

Whose cares hath pierced me through ! 

" I shall most speedily return, 

Then in a convent find 
What Christian hearts alone can learn, 

A peaceful, holy mind, — 

" That is, if Heaven will wipe away 
Each murderous dream from view, 

And turn my darkness into day, 
With life and hopes anew. 

" Yea, when I shall return, I will 

To holy cloisters hie, 
There my most godly vow fulfill. 

And learn to live and die ! 

" So now, Albaddin, thou wilt take 

Good charge of all I have. 
Thyself at home in order make. 

Nor at my absence grieve ! 



258 THE FATAL RING. 

" When I return to my estate, 
Though brief the moment be, 

Thou shalt be rendered wealthy, great, — 
I hope that day to see ! 

" Then fare thee well ! but, ah ! how lone 

And lost my spirit seems! 
My murdered, oh ! my poor Zuone ! 

Thou wilt attend my dreams !" 

The prince he turned away and wept ; 

His heart was wrung with pain. 
For every earthly bliss was swept 

From life, he felt it plain. 

Albaddin seized his hand and prest 

It to his throbbing heart. 
And thus his grateful views expressed 

Ere he should now depart: 

" Most noble prince 1 I cannot bear 

Thy absence, and desire 
To be thy page, thy travels share, 

I ask no station higher. 

" Let me but be thy humble guide, 
And bear thy company still, 

I'd rather be thus near thy side 
Than heir a monarch's will ! 

" Thou art my only guardian left ; 

How lonely would I be 
When of my honored lord bereft ! 

Then let me follow thee. 



THE FATAL RING. 259 

" Through good or evil I desire 

Thy fortune still to share ; 
Deny not then, my worthy sire, 

Thy page's humble prayer." 

" Noble Albaddin ! e'er my own. 

My best, my bravest friend ! 
Though now is gone my poor Zuone, 

Thou shalt my life attend ! 

*' Had I united kingdoms now, 

Them all I'd freely give 
To gaze on my Zuona's brow 

As when she late did live ! 

" That being, in her beauteous pride, 

An angel was to me. 
Till jealousy set me beside 

Myself, to aim at thee ! 

"All thy attentive kindness to 

Us both, thy willing air, 
Brought demon hateful thoughts to view 

That drove me to despair ! 

" Thy strict obedience to her will, 

Her generous acts to thee. 
Did but the fount of envy fill 

To doom my misery ! 

" She proudly lavished in thy praise, 

(And thou wert worthy such,) 
Which did my jealous passions raise 

And every heart-string touch. 



260 THE FATAL RING. 

" Each look that was but kindlj meant, 
When thou didst on her wait, 

An arrow to my bosom sent 
Of anger and of hate ! 

" Blinded I was, and could not see 
Thy perfect worth as now ; 

Although thou wert so kind to me. 
Still envy touched my brow. 

" Ere this I had a love for thee, 

Of deep, surpassing kind, 
And felt that thou wert dear to me 

By every power refined. 

" But as each winning charm of thine 

Unfolded to the view, 
I thought Zuone, that angel mine, 

Did more than love thee too. 

" Thus night and day would vision's ghost 
My tortured feelings haunt, 

Till now to every feeling lost 
I did for vengeance pant. 

"And when the fatal ring appeared, 
I more than frenzied grew, 

For envy had her bulwark reared — 
I deemed your tales untrue. 

" I could not, dear Albaddin, see 
How thou shouldst it obtain ; 

'Twas then a mystery to me. 
Though now it is too plain ! 



THE FATAL RING. 261 

" How thou shouklst on thy finger wear 

My royal ring was strange ; 
Before me too with it appear, 

It did my soul derange ! 

" I fancied thou hadst freedom used, 

And in an ardent hour 
Had slyly from her finger loosed 

The gem you proudly wore, 

" Without a knowledge of the deep 

Portentous charge it held. 
Or thou wouldst not in favor keep 

What fear would have expelled. 

" But now the fearful dream is o'er ! 

Life's eloquence reveals, 
That happy I shall be no more 

Till death my misery seals ! 

" Unless God in his mercy deign 

To wash away my guilt ; 
'Tis he alone can blunt the pain 

For blood that I have spilt. 

" But since thou dost so ardent crave 

To blend thy fate with mine. 
With me life's lowering tempest brave, — 

I yield my will to thine. 

" Yes, brave Albaddin ! ever true 

And constant thou hast been ; 
And when my treachery stands in view 

How galling is the scene ! . 
23 



262 THE FATAL RING. 

" Come to my arms, my noble friend! 

Thy virtues chaste shall be 
A guiding star while life shall lend 

Her destinies to me !" 

" Thanks, to my lord ! he doth in this 

My spirit joy afford!" 
Albaddin cried, " it were a bliss 

O'er every feeling poured ! 

" Think not of solemn changes past 
Which hath thy bosom riven. 

For though this word should be my last, 
My lord, thou art forgiven !" 

Now after some arrangements, they 

Set out upon a tour. 
Yet not intending long to stay, 

But Italy explore. 

Then, after his return, the prince 

Designed to spend his life 
Within a convent, not far hence. 

To mourn his sins and wife. 

t Now on a day, while autumn threw 
Her golden sunbeams o'er 
A portion of creation's view 
That every beauty wore ; 

In groves the clustering vineyards lay, 
Hung rich with melting fruitj 

A scene where fancy fain would stray 
And would the muses suit; 



THE FATAL RING, 263 

All nature in her fairest smiles 

This morning seemed to be ; 
Glory lit up the distant isles 

And gilded o'er the sea, — 

Our travelers thev embarked to range 

Perennial, distant shores, 
Trusting, among new beauties strange, 

To heal up memory's pores. 

Their journey prosperous, brought them soon 

Among those templed shrines, 
Where ruin stalks as broad as noon. 

And ivy rank entwines. 

Those crumbling halls, all green and dark, 

Whose sculptured ruins lay 
A living, though a mournful mark, 

Of greatness passed away. 

Some weeks they spent in wandering o'er 

This fair and beauteous clime; 
Each tropic scene they did explore 

Though grief kept pace with time. 

Enchanting were the changing scenes 

That met their saddened view; 
But now a subject intervenes 

As strange as it is true. 

To Switzerland they now repaired ; 

All vernal charms had fled : 
The wood, the vale, the bowers were seared, 

For winter round them spread 



264 THE FATAL RING. 

Her gloomy visage, keen and bleak ; 

The wind moaned loud and wild ; 
They now a warming shelter seek 

Where comfort seeming smiled. 

A favored hospice — here they gained 
Admittance for the night, 

And were most kindly entertained, 
Or welcomed with delight. 

Now seated at a frugal meal 
Of biscuit, bread, and wine, 

For luxuries they did not feel 
Disposed to once repine. 

The flask renewed, a monk drew near, 
Whose locks were silvered o'er 

With snows of many a gone-by year ; 
His cheeks deep furrows wore. 

He joined in converse to amuse 
Each weary stranger guest, 

But did a solemn subject choose. 
And thus the group addressed: 

" The monastery where I reside 
Is but a mile from here. 

It is with holy hearts supplied 
And many a daughter fair. 

" For fifty years its cloisters have 
My pilgrim form retained ; 

I young in life to Heaven gave 
The homage I maintained. 



THE FATAL RING. 265 

"And peaceful have my seasons flown, 

Save sometimes an event 
Would be across my pathway thrown 

As though by Heaven sent. 

" Five months have passed since on a night 

Of deep and threatening gloom, 
The planets all shut out their light — 

'Twas dark as murder's doom — 

" Save now and then the lightning's glare 
Flashed o'er the traveler's way ; 

The thunder rolled upon the air 
Where blackened vapors lay. 

" 'Twas midnight; loud the portal rang, 

I to the summons flew. 
Wondering what mystery could hang 

O'er this alarm so new. 

" Soon was thrown back the portal gate. 

Two strangers to admit, 
Thus wandering all benighted, late. 

For mercy sanctioned it. 

" When, mufiled in an ample cloak 

And hood of sable kind. 
The loveliest fair that ever spoke 

Roused my astonished mind. 

" *Admit a wanderer, father, do, 

Within your friendly walls, 
For kindly shelter here we flew, — 

'Tis bleeding mercy calls !' 
23* 



266 THE FATAL RING. 

"I led them to a chamber, where 
Dry garments were prepared, 

And what we had of comfort there 
Their wearied spirits shared. 

" I gazed upon the lovely cheek 
Of this sweet angel form ; 

Its paleness did more woe bespeak 
Than mere fatigue from storm." 

The monk now paused — said he, " I fear 
My story pains your mind ; 

If so, I will my theme forbear, 
For 'tis of tragic kind." 

" Go on ! go on !" the prince replied, 
"I have a woman's heart; 

And mournful changes too, beside, 
Some gloomy thoughts impart !'* 

" Well, sires, the hermit with her then 
Revealed a murderous tale. 

About a prince, the worst of men, 
That made my spirit quail ! 

" This lady was his beauteous love. 

Most innocent and fair, 
But he did of her jealous prove. 

Yet had no cause whate'er. 

"Yet from a lofty tower he 
Threw this, his lovely bride, 

In one sad fit of jealousy, 
Into the rolling tide !" 



THE FATAL RING. 261 

" Hold, hold ! for God's sake, hold !" 
The frenzied prince exclaimed — 

" I am that wretched murderer bold, 
You have so fitly named ! 

" Yes, yes ! I was ^ the worst of men 1* 

Thy lips hath rightly said ; 
But, friend, I am not now as then — 

I have atonement made ! 

" Gods ! can it be ? what fate is this 

Hangs o'er my palsied soul? 
Say, does she live? oh ! pray dismiss 

These doubts which round me roll ! 

" Speak, speak ! does my Zuona live, 

My life, my love, my all ? 
The world's dominions would I give 

Now at her feet to fall 1 

"There in my soul's deep anguish plead 

For her forgiving love ; 
Yea, there my heart would burst and bleed, 

Its contrite will to prove ! 

'' Speak ! tell me, holy father, where 

Doth this, my angel live ? 
If she's on earth, let me repair 

To instant comfort give!" 

"She lives ! she lives !" the father cried ; 

" Calm now thy frenzied heart! 
She in the convent doth reside 

And lives the Christian's part." 



268 THE FATAL RING. 

" Blest Heaven's most unforeseen decree, 

Is this eventful night ! 
Blessings disguised hath followed me 

And on my soul alight ! 

"But, holy father, lead me on 

To my own injured bride, 
Then gratitude shall smile upon 

Thy heart, and wealth beside !" 

How did Albaddin's bosom beat 
At every word that passed 1 

He clasped in joy the prince's feet ; 
His tears fell warm and fast. 

Said he, " My lord, come let us kneel 

To bending Heaven now. 
Whose love hath set its sovereign seal 

Upon thy contrite vow. 

" How passing strange is each event 

That o'er existence reign ! 
Who could have thought decree had sent 

Thy bride to thee again ? 

<^ Oh ! sweet exulting hour of bliss ! 

That I should live to see 
On earth a day of joy like this, — 

'Tis nigh too much for me !" 

The prince the kind Albaddin seized 
And pressed him to his breast ; 

In transport sorrowing, and yet pleased, 
He thus the youth addressed : 



THE FATAL RING. 269 

"Albaddin, my most cherished friend, 

Some doubts my soul pervade; 
My rapture yet may have an end, 

My hopes be prostrate laid ! 

" That cruel, murderous design 

My loved Zuone may ne'er 
Forgive, or yet consent again 

Before me to appear. 

" Prophetic Gods ! should this be true 

I'm lost — I'm lost — undone ! 
Death would be welcome to my view 

As morning's rising sun ! 

"Ay, if her sacred lips declare 

Me as a loathsome fiend, 
Where shall I fly ? ah ! tell me where 

Shall I my misery end ? 

" Could I in earth's remotest sphere 

My bleeding sorrows hide ? 
Ah, no ! the ghost of black despair 

O'er memory would preside ! 

" It were a kind, a sweet relief, 

If at her feet I lie. 
There pardon ask, there vent my grief. 

There bless her, and to die ! 

" Rather than forever be 

Protruded from her sight, 
A slave to living misery 

Shut up in sorrow's night !" 



2T0 THE FATAL RING. 

" Hark !" said the holy father now, 
" I would in turn just speak ; 

I well that lovely angel know, 
And will her instant seek ! 

"A life devoted she has led 
Since in those walls she came ; 

A very saint whose heart hath bled 
O'er thy unhappy name. 

"How often, in the midnight hour. 

She in her lonely cell, 
When soothing sleep denied its power 

Nor would her eyelids seal, 

" Be on her knees in fervent prayer 

To Him, our lofty God, 
"Who bends in love his sovereign ear 

To every saint's abode. 

" In deep, adoring spirit, her 

Chaste orisons would rise. 
Pleading to Heaven, noble sire. 

For thee. ' God !' she cries, 

" ' Wilt thou spread out thy shielding wing 
O'er him, my prince, my lord. 

His soul to just repentance bring? 
Oh ! speak the pardoning word ! 

" ' Oh ! could I through some venture learn 

He mourns his horrid plot ; 
And poor Albaddin's fate discern, — 

If murdered or if not ! 



THE FATAL RING. 2'7l 



a i 



I trust the potent loving arm 
That kindly rescued me, 
Hath saved this guileless youth from harm, 
And guards his destiny ! 

« i For visible by every view 

Is thy prevailing power, 
That bore my struggling spirit through 

That dark, tremendous hour. 

" * Then, God immutable, I give 

My prince into thy care. 
That he a holy life may live 

Of penitence and prayer.' 

"And thus, while weary hours rolled, 
This saint would plead for thee ; 

Then if by heavenly love controlled 
Could she revengeful be ? 

" Could she, who thus for thee would plead 

From hour to hour, disdain 
To look on thee ? ah ! no indeed ! 

Nor love thee once again. 

" It cannot be ! her holy mind 

Still lingers o'er thy form ; 
Affection of the purest kind 

Her noble feelings warm. 

" She loves thee ! ay, she loves thee still, 
Though grief pervades her soul ! 

Forgive thee she most surely will 
For all thy treatment foul ! 



2T2 THE FATAL RING. 

"And how will her angelic heart 
Throb with new-born delight 

When I the truth to her impart 
Of this eventful night ! 

" So, mighty prince, thy feelings calm, 

For all will yet be well ; 
For every wound there is a balm 

In holy Gilead still!" 

" I will ! I will !" the prince replied ; 

" Her perfect heart will ne'er 
Reject my prayers, or yet deride 

The burning, contrite tear. 

"So bring her, holy father, to 

My longing arms I pray, 
That I my loved Zuone may view 

Before the break of day." 

Now taking leave, the monk with speed 
Soon gained the convent gate, 

Did to Zuona's cell proceed. 
For yet it was not late. 

When, tapping gently at the door. 
Admittance begged to gain, 

As he had weighty news in store 
To instantly explain ; 

Suspecting something strange indeed, 

Zuona quickly flew. 
With heart well-nigh to burst and bleed. 

And soon the bolts undrew. 



THE FATAL RING. 213 

A hundred vague ideas rose 

Across her troubled brain, 
That her confessor now should choose 

An entrance to gain. 

She knew there must be pressing need, 

Some strange event, or why 
Would it the holy man there lead, 

And for her ear apply? 

With visage pale, and trembling heart, 

She to the monk drew near, 
To hear what he would fain impart, 

Or what had brought him there. 

" My daughter !" said the holy man, 

Whose looks expressed concern, 
And drawing near he now began, — 

"Thou must strange tidings learn ! 

" Compose thyself, and feel no fear, 

For joyous news I bring, 
Tidings of love and sacred cheer 

Borne on an angel's wing ! 

" The heaven of heavens hath heard thy pray'r, 

My daughter, and I came 
Thy precious feelings to prepare, — 

So listen to the same. 

"This night I to the hospice went 

To pass a friendly hour, 
As I have oft before there spent 

When evening shadows lower. 
24 



2T4 THE FATAL RING. 

" While seated round the glowing hearth 

With other brethren there, 
Joining in tales of woe or mirth, 

Two strangers did appear. 

" They were of lofty rank I found 
From their address and mien, 

And while the usual tale went round, 
Some change now wore the scene." 

" Oh, holy father, speak! oh, speak !" 

The fair Zuona cried ; 
While snowy paleness blanched her cheek 

Which beauty's mould supplied. 

" Is it the prince ? oh, speak, I pray ! 

How frantic do I feel ! 
Hath Heaven shone across his way 

And changed his heart of steel?" 

"It is the prince, my daughter fair ! 

Come, calm thyself, for now 
Thou must with me to him repair 

Whose heart is steeped in woe. 

" Yes, grief, my child, of purest kind, 
Sorrow for all that's past, — 

Religion fills his noble mind 
And claims him heir at last. 

" I chanced to name thy hapless fate, 

As other tales went round ; 
The hour as yet, not being late. 

And thus the prince I found. 



THE FATAL RING. 275 

" How was my soul astonished, when 

The tragedy I named, 
Or pictured I the worst of men. 

The prince the feature claimed ! 

" Frenzied, he started from his seat 

With looks so deep and wild. 
That when he did his tale repeat 

It made me weep, my child ! 

"And further listen, pray attend ! 

Albaddin he is well ! 
He is the prince's bosom friend, 

Doth constant with him dwell ! 

"They at the kindly hospice wait 

For me to bring thee there ; 
Then come, my daughter, 'tis not late, 

We thither will repair." 

"Ah ! holy father, how can I 

Endure this interview ? 
It will my very heart-strings try, 

Perhaps will break them too I" 

" Nay, nay, my daughter ! this is wrong ! 

Thy pious feelings sure 
Should be with moral courage strung — 

Thou must the scene endure!" 

Now on his aged arm she leans 

While thither they proceed ; 
A gloomy pathway intervenes 

But does not mar their speed. 



276 THE FATAL RING. 

And long it was not ere they stood 

Before the hospice gate, 
Were welcomed to the kind abode 

By those who for them wait. 

But who can paint the coming scene ? 

All efforts would be vain ; 
'Twas only such as to be seen 

And ne'er forgot again ! 

With eager heart the prince had flown, 
In shame and wounded pride, 

And soon his form was prostrate thrown 
Before his injured bride. 

Swelled was the quivering lip that strove 
To break the chain-bound spell; 

One scream told poor Zuona's love, — 
She on his bosom fell ! 

"Adored Zuone ! my well-beloved !" 
The prince in anguish cried ; 

"A vile and murderous wretch I've proved, 
And should thy curse abide ! 

" How have I torn thy precious heart, 
And grieved thy soul with pain ? 

How canst thou one kind look impart 
Or meet me e'er again ? 

" But thou art holy, and will not 

Resent my former deeds, 
Yet will them from thy memory blot, 

While mine own conscience bleeds. 



THE FATAL RING. 2tT 

" Bat let me hear thee speak the word 

That tells ray heart forgiven ; 
'Twill be like music sweetly heard, 

Or echoed back from heaven. 

'* Yet shouldst thou but despise me, I 

Will bear the fatal blow 
Just long enough to weep and die, 

A victim to my woe ! 

" Then, dearest, speak ! and tell me too 

What thus thy life did save, 
When I had thought, or seeming knew. 

Thee 'neath a watery grave? 

*' By what strange miracle wert thou 
Preserved from death's dark doom ? 

I cannot see in nature how 
Thou hast escaped the tomb." 

" 'Twas Heaven, Zubadah, saved my life ! 

It knew my wrongs, and sent 
A rescue to thy injured wife, 

That thou mightst yet repent. 

"When thou didst from that fatal tower 

Commit me to the deep. 
There was a holy, wakeful power 

Did to my danger leap. 

" It chanced, as thou didst madly throw 

Me from thy fearful hold, 
A sapling from the rocks below 

Caught in my dress some fold ; 
24* 



278 THE FATAL RING. 

"And thus suspended, there I hung, 
Nigh dead with fear and grief, 

Till some kind fishermen had sprung 
In time to my relief. 

" Not distant far their nets were cast, 
For they had fishing been ; 

They saw the tragedy that passed, 
And hurried to the scene. 

" They placed me in their boat and bore 

Me to their humble cot. 
Which every charm of comfort wore, 

Though rustic was their lot. 

" Exceeding ill for weeks I lay. 

Dependent on their care, 
Yet over-generous were they 

"With all their simple fare. 

" I charged them well, to never name 
The dark and solemn deed. 

To see how time would rule the same 
Since I from death was freed ; 

" With promises of kind reward 

If they would silent be, 
Nor name by single hint or word 

My hapless destiny ; 

" Believing through prophetic skies, 

Before thy frantic view 
My spirit's innocence would rise 

A ghost to pierce thee through. 



THE FATAL RING. 2Y9 

" The most I feared was that our page, 

So faithful, kind, and true, 
Had fallen a victim to thy rage, 

And that from torture too ! 

" But thanks to sweet ordaining Heaven, 

It was a tragic dream ! 
And happy thou art now forgiven. 

And life may glide serene. 

" 'Tis well Albaddin lives to see 

This night of joy arrive; 
Wert thou his murderer, naught with me 

Could former love revive ! 

" I never could with Christian aid. 

The warmest and the best, 
Again upon thy heart have laid. 

Or held thee to my breast. 

"A murderer ! no! and thus I sought 

A refuge for awhile, 
Where sweet religion's ways are taught, 

And love and friendship smile. 

" That shielding convent was my home, 

Where I have lived in prayer, 
That Heaven would avert thy doom 

Of misery and despair. 

" Trusting that time would tidings bring 

To my confiding heart. 
With joy and healing in its wing, 

And sovereign peace impart. 



280 THE FATAL RING. 

"And thus hath Heaven heard my cry, 
And brought this happy hour ; 

Thus may we Christians live and die, 
And sin, my love, no more." 

" Come to my arms, sweet life, again ! 

For thou art all to me !" 
Zubadah cried; " how blest the pain 

Of meeting — ecstacy ! 

" From deep conviction I was bound 
To some known convent near, 

To mourn thy fate in gloom profound, 
And live a life of prayer. 

" Till this event of Heaven's own 
Hath brought thee back to me. 

What changeless mercy hath it shown 
To set my conscience free ! 

"A slave to every guilty fear 
I had been doomed to live, 

Didst thou not, love, now reappear 
And every wrong forgive. 

" But now, back to the palace we 

Will hasten, and prepare 
A banquet, for all guests most free 

Who shall our rapture share. 

" The country round shall ring with joy 

At this, our bridal feast ; 
And may no cloud the bliss destroy 

Of each exulting breast ! 



THE FATAL RING. 281 

" The tower, that sepulcher of ill, 

A chapel now shall prove, 
By Heaven's kind ordaining will 

To firmer join our love. 

" Mass every night shall there be said 

While our blest lives shall last. 
There every grateful vow be paid 

For future and the past. 

"And this, our own Albaddin here, 

Shall ever be our guest ; 
He is our bosom friend sincere. 

The very truest, best 1 

" But wealth and title are his claim ; 

He is our page no more, 
A dukedom shall enroll his name. 

And honors are in store. 

" My sister Alrianna is 

Most beautiful and fair, 
A princess, too ; she shall be his 

With all her virtues rare. 

"A marriage gift so nobly great, 

I deem a just reward 
To one who thus pursued my fate 

And all my sorrows shared. 

" We'll hail the pleasing jubilee 

In one united band ; 
This day that gives thee back to me 

Shall join them hand in hand.'* 



282 HOPE. 

Now knelt Albaddin at their feet. 
And blessed them o'er and o'er, 

There did his constant vows repeat, 
And Heaven's decrees adore ! 



— s©^ 



HOPE. 

The sweet smile of Hope ! what a bright little treasure, 

What a comfort to those that are sad ! 
It is, we e'er know, the sure index of pleasure 

Which lightens and makes the heart glad. 

It whispers sometimes little things very kind. 
Which we fain would have true without fail ; 

Yet while it thus pleasingly buoys up the mind, 
It proves oft a "flattering tale." 

Each fairy illusion, like some glowing scene 

Transferred to the canvas appears. 
When meddlesome fate slyly steps in between 

And clips up the whole with her shears. 

Yea, Hope ! thou art light and as fickle as air. 

Yet comforting still in the main. 
For while e'er coquetting like some giddy fair. 

Thou wilt fly ofi* to come back again. 

And thus thou art ever a kindly guest, • 

Although disappointments appear, 
Since thou canst roll back the dark clouds from the 
breast, 

And wipe off" the sorrowing tear. 



THE SPEAKING FLOWER. 283 



THE SPEAKING FLOWER. 

Oh ! what a beauteous flower, Jane ! 

Its colors, they are soft and clear, 
And while I gaze on every vein 

I see a hundred graces there ! 

Its azure blue like yonder sky, 
Its stems of velvet green ; 

On every leaf I cast my eye 
The Author's name is seen ! 

JANE. 

Why, Anna, sure you rave, my child ! 

The flower, I own, is fair 
As any other growing wild ; 

But name — I see none there ! 

But you can always find a charm 

In everything you see, 
To kindle admiration warm, — 

It is not so with me! 

A. weed, a plant of any kind 
Has some delight for you ; 

You'll turn it over till you find 
Its worth and virtue too ! 

The other day, the little vine 
That shades our cottage door. 

You saw in it such beauty shine 
As ne'er you saw before. 



284 THE SPEAKING FLOWER. 

The gentle breeze that whispered by 

Was music to your ear, 
And little birds that warbled nigh 

Caused on your cheek a tear. 

Now, Anna, this is strange to me ! 

Why you should look so sad 
When Nature all looks charmingly 

And every heart seems glad ! 

ANNA. 

Ah, dearest Jane ! it was not grief 
That caused the gushing tear ; 

But while I gazed on every leaf 
I saw God's beauty there ! 

There's not a lovely flower that blows 

On nature's fertile soil, 
But what His matchless wisdom shows 

As well as sacred toil. 

And when I look around and see 
His glories spreading wide, 

A thousand thoughts encompass me 
My feelings cannot hide. 

His precious love and tender care 
Hath marked my youthful days ; 

He wanders with me everywhere 
And guards my trembling ways. 

Then can I gaze on all around 
With cold and senseless heart, 

Nor love, nor gratitude be found 
To act a generous part ? 



THE SPEAKING FLOWER. 285 

Ah, no ! dear Jane, that must not be ! 

I would inferior prove 
To this sweet silent flower you see. 

Which speaks its Maker's love ! 

Though no broad name is written here, 

Its lovely virtues show 
There is a God we should revere 

And early learn to know ! 

All things in nature speak His praise, 

E'en this retiring flower ; 
Then let us walk in wisdom's ways 

And bless and love Him more ! 

JANE. 

You're right, dear Anna ! now I see 

How dumb I've been indeed ; 
And since you've made all plain to me, 

A dift"erent life I'll lead ! 

I am ashamed! so many years 

I've heedless passed away. 
Nor saw 'mid all that bright appears 

Their grandeur till to-day. 

But now I have much wiser grown. 

Things difierent will appear ; 
And since you've made God's wonders known, 

I'll praise Him, Anna dear I 

25 



286 THE FORFEITED KISS. 



THE FORFEITED KISS. 

" Comb, pretty coz ! you well remember 
This is the first of old December ; 
And now it's just one year ago 
Since you made me a bet, you know, 
That if a riddle I should guess. 
You'd pay the forfeit of a kiss ; 
But like a little prude, as yet 
You never have relieved the debt ; 
And since twelve months it now is due, 
I frankly think you owe me two!" 

" Go 'long ! you silly torment, go ! 
Why do you always treat me so ? 
It seems you never will grow steady. 
Though twenty years you've seen already, 
And by this time, a clever span. 
You ought to be a nice young man 1 
Nor come with silly tales like this. 
And say I owe you now a kiss!" 

" Nay, nay ! I say you owe me two ; 
The other is the interest due ! 
I've waited now a year for pay, 
And must receive them both to-day ! 
Don't think you, coz, my pretty tease, 
I'll let you do just as you please ! 
So now we'll see who is the stronger, 
Since I'm resolved to wait no longer I 



THE FORFEITED KISS. 28t 

Look out there ! here is one, two, three ! 
That is a sad mistake, I see ! 
Oh ! pardon, coz ! nor think me vain ; 
Come, take the other back again !" 

" Go 'long ! you sure have crazy grown ! 
Why will you not let me alone ? 
Take that ! you good-for-nothing pest!" 
Said Kate ; "you are too bad at best !" 
And while she blushed with maiden grace, 
She slapped him gently in the face. 
And pouted in such pretty mood 
That Ned would further fain intrude ; 
And vowed by Cupid and his quiver 
She should that day be his forever. 

" I cannot say !" said prudish Kate ; 
" I have a mind to make you wait ! 

It would be nothing more than right 

For putting me in such a fright ; 

Just see now, through your silly whim, 

My hair is in an awful trim ! 

Indeed you better grow more steady 

Before you are for marriage ready ; 

And all for taking kisses three, — 

Now, mind, you get no more from me!" 

"Ho, ho !" said Ned ; " my pretty coz. 
Now don't toss up your little nose ; 
For since you are disposed to pout. 
We'll fight the silly matter out ; 
For there is luck in lover's sprees — 
They bring a wedding on the breeze ; 



288 THE LITTLE CRIPPLE. 

And now, my darling little maid, 
Although you think the forfeit paid, 
So sure as I am second cousin. 
When we are wed I'll have a dozen !' 



THE LITTLE CRIPPLE. 

" Come, brother dear ! don't run away ! 

I cannot walk so fast as you ; 
My little limbs, you see how they 

Are sadly warped and shrunken too ! 

'' It was not thus some time ago. 
Ere dreadful pain and sickness came ; 

I then was blithe and gay, you know, 
And did not dream of being lame. 

" But here I am a cripple now. 
And scarcely can I go alone ! 

Ah, brother dear ! I wonder how 
I'll be when I am older grown ? 

" Poor mother daily grieves to see 
My little, weak, and shrunken form, 

And while she fondly blesses me, 
I feel her tears fall fast and warm. 

" She feels I am a helpless child, 

And very little use indeed; 
Yet day and night how has she toiled 

To keep us both from woe and need ! 



THE hero's grave. 289 

"Ah, me ! she is so good and kind, 
We never hear her heart complain, 

And hard she must the duty find 
Us both to shelter and maintain ! 

" I wish I could a little earn. 

If only but a mite or two ; 
But then, alas ! I cannot turn 

My hand a single thing to do ! 

" But then I still will hope and pray 
My feeble limbs may stronger grow ; 

If this should be the case, I may 
Some comfort to her heart bestow ! 

" But now I just go creeping on, 

And wearisome I must appear ; 
Give me your arm to lean upon. 

And take me home, my brother dear!" 

m^ 



THE HERO'S GRAVE. 

The war drum was still, and the battle was o'er, 

The silence of death held its reign ; 
All hushed was the sound of the cannon's deep roar, 

And strewed was the field of the slain. 

The battle-axe lay by the warrior's side, 
His sword and his shield stained with gore. 

All told that the hero had nobly died, 

And would wield them in triumph no more. 
25* 



290 THE hero's grave. 

But ere the brave chieftain relinquished his breath, 

The glory of victory won 
Gave joy to illumine the shadows of death, 

For he knew that his warfare was done. 

" Huzza to my country ! huzza to the brave!" 
Was the language that fell from his tongue ; 

" I smile o'er the trammels of death and the grave 
Since the peal of our victory has rung! 

" The grave of a soldier ! where else should it be 

But on the dominions of war? 
If he dies, from the bondage of slavery free, 

And under a conquering star ! 

" Huzza to my country ! huzza to the brave I 

Huzza to bright victory's name ! 
'Tis glory to die my loved nation to save. 

And see her enameled with fame !" 

Thus spoke the brave chieftain, and now 

A halo of triumph was seen 
To illumine his breast and his brow. 

On the pillow of life's closing scene. 

And now there's an emerald spot 

On the isle where the battle was known. 

That will never through time be forgot. 
For 'tis carved on eternity's throne ! 

For who will not think of the brave. 

Wherever their relics may lie, 
Who have fought their loved country to save. 

For its freedom and people to die ? 



nature's solitude. 291 



NATURFS SOLITUDE. 

Would man to lioly thoughts asph-e 

To lead him in a humble vein ? 
Let him in solitude inquire 

Of every valley, wood, and plain ; 
Where he may see the heather bloom, 

The violet peep from mossy bed, 
Those gorges wild, where all assume 

A grandeur most sublimely spread; 
The music of the silver rills. 

And whispering leaves that hang above ; 
The silence from a hundred hills 

May all awake his heart to love. 

Not morbid love of selfish earth. 

Those passions of depraved delight, 
But holy thoughts that life give birth 

And lead the longing soul aright. 
Ask of the winding, babbling brook, 

Coursing along the forest glade. 
Whence it its mirrored beauty took. 

Or who its flowery borders made ; 
Or mossy shrines, that silent rear 

Their pigmy heights on every side ; 
From each and all a voice I hear 

That tells who hath the whole supplied. 

The tumbling cascade, rushing down. 
Amid a world of foam and spray. 

The rocks that towering mountains crown. 
Whose depths ne'er meet the light of day ; 



292 nature's solitude. 

And silent caverns, dark and deep, 

With many a beauteous sculptured wall 
Formed by the drops that endless keep 

A tinkling music as they fall ; 
Ay, music such as silence woos 

When wrapped 'mid nature's works profound 
Vain man his finite self may lose 

In every whisper, every sound. 

E'en to the crisp unfolding flower. 

Whose tender buds flash to the light. 
In gorgeous beauty painted o'er 

To dazzle and exalt the sight, 
A charm is breathed, a speech is given. 

In every germ or leafy spray, 
Which mutely speaks of holy Heaven 

And ofi'ers homage in its way. 
Hear but the choir of tuneful birds 

Who early wake their morning song; 
It needs not finite power of words 

To tell who thus inspires the throng. 

There is a depth of mystic awe 

That wraps the soul in dreamy mood, 
When we to sacred haunts withdraw 

To woo the bliss of solitude ; 
The sighing of the gentle breeze, 

The twittering of some insect near. 
The whispering of the forest leaves 

All sweetly rest upon the ear ; 
There, 'mid the dark and cooling shade, 

The mind drinks in the blessed calm. 
Can soar in thought to Him who made 

The glorious whole, the great "I AM." 



THE IMPATIENT SWAIN. 293 



THE IMPATIENT SWAIN. 



Dear Nell ! what a nod, nid, nodding you keep 1 
Are you acting the traitor, or are you asleep ? 
For here I've been knocking so long at the door, 
That my fingers are weary and knuckles are sore ! 

And then I've been calling so long on your name, 
My throat is quite hoarse and my lungs are the same; 
If this is the way, Nell, you treat me, I ne'er. 
On the word of a rover, will come again here ! 

I have watched you at least, my dear girl, for an hour, 
With your head drooping down like a rose in a shower, 
Then once in awhile you would bob back again 
As though you had caught a new thought in your brain. 

You never have kept me so long here before. 
And I felt a great notion to knock down the door. 
Nor could you well blame me, dear Nell, as a man, 
If I had gone off like a flash in a pan. 

NELL. 

Ah, Rubin! dear Rubin ! forgive me, I pray ! 

I really forgot you were coming to-day ! 

And then you'll believe me, till morning's gray peep 

My eyes were not blest with a wink of sweet sleep. 

Then is it a wonder I dropped in a doze. 

Nor should waken e'en had you screamed under my 

nose? 
There's nothing that makes one look more like a fright 
Than to be kept awake a whole day and a night. 



294 THE IMPATIENT BWAIN. 

RUBIN. 

And is there no reason, my own pretty Nell, 
For this staying awake ? now be candid and tell ! 
For if I should judge from the looks of those eyes, 
At the bottom of this there's a mystery lies. 

Nay, you blush, my dear girl, and hang down your head ; 
I fear on your toes I now slightly tread ; 
But tell me the truth, and I vow and protest 
I'll freely forgive you, my sweet little pest ! 

NELL. 

Well, Rubin, dear Rubin ! I'll tell you outright ; 
I went to a quilting and sat up all night ; 
The beaus were so merry, the girls full of play, 
So they kept up the party till broad, beaming day. 

Nay, do not be jealous ! for no one was there 
For whom your own Nell did a single pin care ; 
Then away with that frown, or, I tell you quite plain, 
As a piece of revenge I will go there again ! 

RUBIN. 

Then come here, you puss ! for it won't be amiss 
To give me as make-up a good hearty kiss ; 
For sure as you don't, there is Debby and Bell 
Will be proud of the honor, you know very well ! 

But as we're engaged, my dear Nell, to be one, 

I feel far too modest to such a risk run; 

So hold up your lips, so ruddy and bright — 

There's one, two, and three ! my sweet girl, that is right I 



SHUN THE CUP I 295 



SHUN THE CUP! 

The cup ! the cup ! the tempting cup ! 

You say it lifts the feelings up ! 

It is a poison and a snare ! 

Oh, shun the draught 1 beware, beware ! 

'Tis like some dark and prowling foe. 
Haunting your steps where'er you go, 
Chaining you by its tyrant spell, 
And fain would lead you down to hell ! 

Look not upon the sparkling draught ; 
'Tis safer never to be quaffed ; 
Eor like a viper's deadly sting 
It will upon your vitals cling. 

Then from the hydra monster turn, 
Nor let its power consuming burn 
Your mortal frame, your reason's throne, 
And make you victim of its own. 

Yea, bravely shun the fearful vice, 
Ere life's dread forfeit be the price ; 
Let strength in giant beauty bloom, 
And nobly shun the drunkard's doom ! 



296 DESPAIR never! 



DESPAIR NEVER ! 

How oft, in life's exulting morn, 

Our hopes delusive rise ! 
We paint our joys without a thorn, 

Nor dream of troublous skies. 

While fancy aims by magic spell 

To hold the luring chain, 
The direst scenes hath oft befell 

To shroud those joys in pain. 

Well is it for the mortal mind 

The future lies concealed ; 
We could not bear life's woes combined 

Were they to us revealed. 

But Providence hath kindly dealt 
With all His creatures here, 

That more shall not be seen or felt 
Than we can mostly bear. 

True, sometimes crushing ills oppress 
The heart with care and pain. 

And while we wish our sufferings less, 
Are prone to oft complain. 

But let it be well understood. 

Those earthly trials given. 
Are wisely ordered for our good. 

To win our hearts to heaven. 



FRIENDSHIP A TREASURE. 



29t 



FRIENDSHIP A TREASURE. 

It is a saying, old as true, 

That friends are rare indeed; 
Yet while we pass life's journey through 

We often feel their need. 

For sympathy is sweet to share 

With actions meek and kind, 
And some such generous friends there are, 

Though difficult to find. 

However, when a heart we meet. 

Unselfish, pure, and brave, 
A soul untainted by deceit, — 

What more need mortal crave ? 

It is a boon of social bliss, 

The soul may fondly cherish, 
For in a world so cold as this 

Devotions often perish. s 

For ever since the days of old. 

The warmest zeal extended, 
Has been known often to grow cold. 

And sweet afiections ended. 

But 'tis a pleasant thing to claim 

A true, unshaken friend, 
Whose merits do not live in name, — 

Hearts faithful to the end. 
26 



298 BUMMER IS GONE ! 

Be such a sacred treasure mine, 
Nor time nor fate can sever ; 

A love so holy and divine 
I fain would hold forever ! 



SUMMER IS GONE ! 

Bright Summer has departed ! for the germs within 

the bower 
No longer show their shining buds and sweet exulting 

flower ; 
The leaves appear to dusky grow, inclining to the sear, 
Revealing to the moral mind that Autumn now is here. 

The birds they whistle through the wood the same as in 

the spring. 
And merry bee and butterfly continue on the wing ; 
But then they have a way to go to find their honeyed 

store, 
Since flowers they no longer bloom as they have done 

before. 

The farmer he is weary, yet his harvesting is done, 
And glowing stacks of yellow corn stand ripening in the 

sun, 
And mellow fruits and golden grain are careful stowed 

away 
To bless his honest heart and brow when comes old 

Winter gray. 



SUMMER IS gone! 299 

The lowing kine look neat and trim, and oxen in the 
stall, 

They seem to think there is enough for master and them 
all; 

Their wholesome breath is pure and sweet as any new- 
mown hay. 

When they return with cheerful pace just at the close 
of day. 

Upon the rustic maiden's brow a happy smile is seen, 
When comes the hour of milking time upon the cottage 

green ; 
And when the apple-paring time comes gayly round 

again, 
You'll find her at the village church with some young 

gallant swain. 

Oh, happy is the farmer's life ! as seasons take their 

round, 
What pleasure thrills his noble heart while tilling up his 

ground ! 
A thousand pleasing hopes foretell abundant crops will 

rise, 
Before the charming year has flown, to bless his honest 

eyes. 

Give me the charms of rural life, its pleasures and its 

toil: 
The proudest hearts that ever throbbed were yeomen of 

the soil ; 
The bravest sons that ever raised a hand to strike a foe 
Were honest freemen of the land, who loved to reap and 

sow. 



800 PROFANE THOU NOT THE LIVING GOD, 

Ay, give me but a cottage neat near some green mount- 
ain side, 

Where rivers flow and fountains leap ; or by the ocean 
wide. 

Where pearl shells glitter on the strand and wild the 
billows roar, — 

This, this with humble competence, on earth I ask no 
more. 



-^^ 



PROPANE THOU NOT THE LIVING GOD. 

Profane thou not the living God ! 

Take not his holy name in vain ! 
Lest, touched by his chastising rod, 

Thy lips may never speak again ! 

It is a fearful thing to stand 

In froward might before the Lord, 

With outstretched arm and daring hand. 
Regardless of his power or word. 

Look on the dark recording page. 
As onward rolls departing time, 

And see in every gone-by age 

The judgments that have followed crime. 

God hath resolved in holy writ, 
Penned by inspired saints of old, 

If we rebellion will commit 

We never shall his face behold ! 



OUR MOTHER. 301 

Appalling thought ! yet true as dread ! 

We often see destruction fall 
Upon the reckless swearer's head 

Ere he can once for mercy call. 

'Tis then the knell of solemn doom 

Breaks on the closing, dying ear, 
Saying, '< Welcome, sinner ! welcome home, 

To endless regions of despair ! 

" Thou hast the living God abused 

And long insulted to his face, 
His loving offers hath refused 

And scorned his pardon and his grace. 

" His spirit grieved hath turned aside, 
Thou fearful son of wrath and boast. 

And left thee to destruction wide, — 
Thou art among the doomed and lost !" 

Lost ! oh, solemn, fearful sound ! 

To be recalled in judgment never ! 
It tells a home the soul hath found, 

Shut out from light and God forever ! 



-^<^ 



OUK MOTHER. 

We miss thee, oh ! my mother dear ! 

And yet how much we cannot say ; 
For since thy voice no more we hear, 

A gloom around our hearth-stone lay ; 
26* 



302 OUR MOTHER. 

For now when evening shades appear, 

And we in social circle meet, 
Our eyes fill up with many a tear 

To see thy loved, yet vacant seat ; 
Alas ! it looks so sad and lone. 
And tells, dear mother, thou art gone ! 

I think I see thy placid smile. 

As when we once beheld thee there. 
So patient, knittings all the while 

And chatting, in that old arm-chair ; 
Each gentle look thou gavest then 

Is treasured in fond memory deep, 
For there are sacred moments when 

We love to think of thee and weep ; 
For all is dreary now, and lone. 
And tells, dear mother, thou art gone ! 

How oft affection calls to mind. 

When pain and sickness venture near. 
Thy tender, soothing, accents kind. 

Which strove our drooping hearts to cheer ! 
Thy hand touched light our fevered brow. 

And smoothed the pillow with such care, 
Alas ! alas ! 'tis not so now. 

When we the pangs of suffering bear ! 
Nay, nay ! all now is dread and lone. 
And tells, dear mother, thou art gone ! 

How oft, when silence reigns around, 

And dreamy thoughts come looming o'er, 

We almost think we hear the sound 
Of thy dear footstep on the floor ! 



A SONG TO THE OCEAN. 303 

For still it seems it cannot be 

That thou must absent e'er remain ; 

We fain look fondly round for thee, 
And list to hear that voice again ! 

But, no ! ah, no ! we are alone. 

And feel, dear mother, thou art gone ! 



A SONG TO THE OCEAN. 

Old Ocean, I love thee ! what wonders untold 

In thy mystical depths lie concealed, 
O'er which thy proud billows for ages hath rolled. 

Nor will e'er in time be revealed ! 
Thy surges, how wildly they beat on the shore ! 
Yet music, sweet music, is heard in thy roar. 

When hurricane winds come with noisy breath. 

And clouds big with tempest arise, 
And the sea-bird is heard, like the omen of death, 

As she speeds on her way through the skies ; 
Yet wild as her scream trembles over the sea. 
In her voice there is music, sweet music, for me ! 

When lightnings are flashing and thunders loud roll, 

And nature seems quaking with dread, 
And the storm-king is showing his august control, 

With his pinions of midnight outspread ; 
Yet his hoarse, wailing voice, as he beats through the 

air, 
Brings music, though mournfully wild, to my ear ! 



304 THE REFORMED GAMBLER. 

And then, if I listen, dear Ocean, to thee, 

When nature is beaming and bright. 
And the white-crested billows go dancing and free 

In the sun's grand and glorious light. 
And leap to the shore with a magical bound, 
A cadence of music is heard in the sound. 

Oh, jes ! I look on thee with wonder and awe, 

Thj mighty expanse and thy power; 
What hidden creations that man never saw 

Must lie in thy depths evermore ! 
Yet still from thy gorgeous domains do I hear 
Sweet sounds that are music, though wild, to my ear. 



THE REFORMED GAMBLER. 

Dark, dark was the night, and the tempest rose high, 
Not a star was there seen to illumine the sky. 
But the voice of the storm broke aloud on the ear, 
And forest trees rattled and creaked in the air, — 

When Morach, with mantle wrapped close round his 

form. 
Left his desolate cottage, nor heeded the storm. 
*• Dear Minda !" said he, '' I must go, love, indeed; 
I am now rather late, but must quicken my speed. 

" Go now to thy pillow and rest thee awhile, 
Perhaps, love, the morning may dawn with a smile ; 
A kiss on thy forehead and I must away ; 
My promise is given — I cannot delay." 



THE REFORMED GAMBLER. 305 

"Ah, Morach ! and must I alone here remain, 
And know not how soon I shall see thee again ; 
With naught but mj dreaming boy, beauteous and fair, 
To gaze on in sorrow when thou art not here ? 

" The voice of the tempest is thrilling and wild ; 
Though it rocks our frail cottage it wakes not our child; 
And canst thou impress his fair brow with a kiss, 
And leave us alone on a night such as this ?" 

"Ah, Minda ! these notions I cannot endure ! 
Thyself and thy infant are warm and secure ; 
Perhaps on the morrow at home I shall be, 
With thyself by my side and our boy on my knee ! 

" Till then, say no more ! By the powers of light. 
There is naught shall detain me from going this night ; 
My promise is given, I vowed to be there. 
And Minda and hail-storm shall not keep me here !" 

Thws spoke now young Morach as onward he flew. 
While his broad, heavy mantle around him he drew ; 
Yet a thorn of remorse barbed his soul and his mind. 
For too well he knew he had spoken unkind 

To one who was purest on earth to his view. 
And worthy his love and his tenderness too, 
Whose beautiful brow like a diadem shone 
To reveal all those virtues and graces her own ; 

A being, who once was a parent's delight, 
And the pride of those circles gay wealth could invite ; 
But love's fickle dream tore her heart from a sphere 
Where filial affection and friendship were dear. 



306 THE REFORMED GAMBLER. 

Young Morach had once a gay mansion, 'tis true ; 
But gaming brought changes most gloomy and new, 
And poverty now, with its pitiless power, 
Shed sorrow and woe where delight was before. 

Now owing to deep disappointment in play, 

He revels his cheerless existence away ; 

He mourns o'er the ruins of fortune and fame. 

While conscience devolves on himself all the blame. 

"Ah, Minda ! my Minda!" he frantically said. 
While he beat through the storm that howled round his 
head, 

" I feel in my heart it is madness to me 
To injure a being so lovely as thee ! 

" I have torn thee from friendship, from love, and from 

And like some foul demon hath dared to destroy 
The last ray of bliss that could gladden thy brow, 
By scattering mildew and blight o'er it now. • 

" Vile wretch that I am ! roll on, tempest, roll, 
And mingle thy voice with the night dragon's howl ! 
Thy music rings loud through the valleys below, 
And seem like the horrible wailings of woe ! 

" But, hold ! this night is the last of my sorrow ; 
I'll live and be happy, or die on the morrow ; 
I'll turn to the heart I have injured and broken. 
And prove every feature of love's dearest token !" 

Thus Morach resolved as he turned himself round. 
And soon the dark pathway unerringly found ; 



THE REFORMED GAMBLER. SOT 

With feelings much lighter, through wind and through 

rain, 
He sought his own ruinous cottage again. 

But, hark ! ere he raises the latch of the door, 
He listens to sounds that he ne'er heard before ; 
What is it that breaks on his soul and his ear? 
Can it be, holy Heaven ! his Minda at prayer? 

It is ! and she prays that the guardian of power 
May shield and protect him from dangers that lower. 
''Save him, Father!" she cries, "through the gift of 
thy Son, 
And among thy dear children, ah I make him as one ! 

" He is treading the pathway of ruin and woe, 
And knows not the blessings thy love can bestow ; 
Ah ! then in thy pity and mercy hang o'er him. 
Shine broad in thy beauty and brightness before him ! 

"Then soon would this cottage, so lonely and drear, 
Be a smiling and sweet little paradise here ; 
Then for this blest moment I plead, nay, implore, — 
Grant this, holy Heaven ! I ask for no more !" 

" Thus, thus shall it be !" said Morach, as now 
He rushed into the cottage and kissed her fair brow ; 
In the dream of his rapture he hung o'er her form, 
While they mingle their prayers with the breath of the 
storm. 

Are they happy ? let reason with candor declare 
There could not be found a much happier pair ; 
The heart that he bruised with unkindness before 
He blesses in triumph a thousand times o'er. 



808 THE GOUTY UNCLE. 

The walls of the cottage seem gladdened with joy, 
And the rose blush is seen on the cheek of the boy, 
Whose beautiful fingers, so playful and fair, 
Sport through the dark ringlets of dear papa's hair. 

And soft as the voice or sweet music of spring, 
When the lark in the morn shakes the dew from her 

wing, 
Are the lispings the little one breathes in his ear. 
Saying, " Papa, how good and how kind you appear ! 

"Before the green, pretty leaves came on the bough, 
It was not just then as it is with us now; 
For often I noticed, although but a child, 
That poor mamma wept, though she scarce ever smiled. 

" But now she is smiling with joy all the day ; 
And even the kitten looks merry and gay, 
And the beautiful vines, that were faded before. 
Some creep in the window and some at the door." 

"Ah, dear one ! thy heart is a stranger to all 
The events that throw mildew o'er memory's scrawl ; 
In life's future day, should kind Heaven allow. 
Thou shalt learn what I was, and what I am now !" 



THE GOUTY UNCLE. 

OR THE WAY TO GET TO A BALL. 

A GOUTY uncle sat one day 
Close by the fireside ; 

His feet upon the fender lay, 
All up in flannel tied. 



THE GOUTY UNCLE. 309 

And ever and anon a stitch 

Of angry pain would be 
Resolved to make him madly twitch 

And slap his muffled knee. 

A pretty niece, of merry wit 

And lovely, laughing eye, 
Would often by his arm-chair sit ; 

To soothe him she would try. 

Fair Clara had a sparking beau, 

A youth in manners bland. 
Who had just called to let her know 

A ball was now at hand. 

Next night it was proposed to be, 

And said that he would call. 
All dressed, in time, that he might see 

Her safely to the ball. 

And now she to her uncle flew, 

But dreaded much to name 
What she was fearful, if he knew, 

Would staunch oppose the same. 

And how to manage the affair 

Poor Clara did not know. 
She puzzled sense almost threadbare 

To plan a way to go. 

Her uncle was so very cross. 

From spasms of the gout, 
She feared her efforts would be lost 

To bring the thing about. 

27 



310 THE GOUTY UNCLE. 

But hitting on her usual plan, 
She drew close bj his side, 

And soon her little tongue began 
In loving tones to glide. 

" Dear uncle ! you are much in pain ! 

Let me once more repeat. 
Or bathe with balsam warm, again, 

Your swelled and aching feet ! 

"And let me fix this cushion too 

More easy in your chair. 
And with cologne, that's fresh and new, 

Perfume and comb your hair !'* 

"Go 'long! you little, prattling pest! 

I'm raving, sick, and mad ! 
I cannot have one moment's rest — 

I vow it is too bad ! 

" Murder ! twitch ! there it goes ! 

Eire ! scissors ! gal ! 
Clear to the ends of my poor toes, — 

I shall go mad, I shall !" 

" Dear uncle ! do yourself compose ! 

I will do all I can !" 
Then swiftly to the cupboard rose 

To bring the wine-filled can. 

" Here, here ! dear uncle ! do take this ! 

It will compose your mind ; 
I never knew it yet to miss, — 

Relief you'll from it find !" 



THE GOUTY UNCLE. 311 

" Ha, ha ! you little, wily jade ! 

You know which way to please ! 
The gout is sure a tyrant made ^ 

To torture and to tease !" 

Then twitch, twitch ! just as before, 

Slap, slap ! goes on the shin ; 
*'My dear, just pour me out once more ! 

Such suffering is a sin !" 

Again she hands the sparkling wine ; 

His spirits they revive, 
And Clara, pleased to see the sign, 

Her hopes began to thrive. 

For soon her uncle threw aside 

His pouting, grunting tone. 
And scarcely thought the gout to chide, 

For angry thoughts had flown. 

Now kind Sir Hubert did not make 

A practice to taste deep. 
He only would a- little take 

To give him ease and sleep. 

And put his spirits, when in pain. 

Into a cheerful mood; 
But reputation e'er to stain 

By drink he never would. 

So Clara thought it best to get 

Her uncle calm and kind. 
And then to work her heart she set 

To change his fretful mind, — 



312 THE GOUTY UNCLE. 

Well knowing, when in cheerful tone, 

No kinder soul could be ; 
Each one could plan a way their own, 

And quite content was he, — 

Except in matters highly vain. 

Extravagant, or wild ; 
These things he would resist right plain, 

Lest danger round them coiled. 

And thus poor Clara felt a fear, 
Her dreams he would oppose. 

Unless in more than common cheer 
Her uncle's feelings rose. 

So now she thought the proper time 

To gain consent or not. 
Or while the iron was in prime 

To strike while it was hot. 

" Well, well, dear Clara ! I protest," 
Said he, " you are most kind; 

Of nurses sure you are the best, . 
Or else I must be blind ! 

"Why, girl, I feel so smart and brave 

I scarcely can complain ; 
Since that last glass of wine you gave 

I feel as well again ! 

" Suppose I take a little more ! 

Wine is a precious drug ; 
This I found out, though, long before, — 

Indeed, I feel quite snug !" 



THE GOUTY UNCLE. 313 

" Yes, yes, clear uncle ! and again 

Let me your cushion place ; 
I cannot bear that horrid pain 

Should cloud your darling face ! 

"And here's a kiss ! a childlike kiss ! 

Now I have cured you quite !" — 
" Ha, ha ! you little rogue ! in this 

There's something wrong or right ! 

" You have some scheme now in your mind ; 

That I am very sure ! 
I thought you were uncommon kind 

My gouty pains to cure ! 

" You cunning puss ! now what's abroad ? 

Come tell me quick, and plain; 
And if consent I can afford, 

Your asking won't be vain !" 

"Dear uncle ! my dear uncle ! you 

Have heard the latest news !" 
" Yes, yes, my child ! but all's not true ; 

Such tales you must refuse ! 

" I s'pose you mean that I am bound 

To wed that stiff old maid ; 
In truth, I'd rather go and drown 

Than have the crooked jade !" 

" Oh, no ! dear uncle ! that's not it — 

Of that I nothing know — 
Pray keep your patience just a bit, 

I other views will show ! 

21* 



314 THE GOUTY UNCLE. 

" There is to be a splendid ball, 

And I am asked to go ; 
Dear Edward said that he would call, — 

Then, do not say no, no !" 

" Ho, ho ! so Ned is in the scheme ! 

I see now how it goes ! 
There's love in some shape it would seem, 

And I must not oppose ! 

"At first, my child, I thought you had 

To rumor given ear ; 
A tale that made me tip-toe mad 

When it I came to hear ! 

" Now in a little court of mine 

I there a tenant have ; 
And going for my rent, in fine, 

To private gossip gave 

"A little chance to spread a fib 

Of mean and silly kind. 
And which, my child, I early did 

To strangle feel inclined ! 

"And she, the minx ! among the rest 

Now wants it to appear 
That I my earnest views have pressed, 

Which met her willing ear ! 

"And has impatient now become 
Herself with me to tether. 

And vows if I don't have it done, 
She'll show me stormy weather ! 



THE warrior's DREAM. 315 

*VDid anybody ever hear 

Such impudence and folly ? 
It is enough, my Clara dear, 

To make an old man jolly ! 

" To think, for sixty years or more 

A bachelor I've tarried, 
And now, when over old threescore. 

The folks would have me married ! 

"And so, my dear ! this wicked tale 

My temper somewhat tried ; 
Such news as this could never fail 

To be with force applied. 

" But since all matters are no worse, 

Why you shall share the ball ; 
I give consent to this of course, 

So Edward he may call !" 



THE WARRIOR'S DREAM. 

'TwAs night ! when silence o'er hamlet and hill 

Threw its voiceless triumph around ; 
The trumpet's loud blast and the war drum was still. 

And hushed was the tumult of sound, — 

When the warrior, weary from battle, reclined 

On his pillow encircled with fame ; 
A thousand gay visions danced over his mind, 

For valor now blazoned his name. 



316 THE warrior's dream. 

He thought of the present, the future, and past, 

As each picture arose to his view. 
Till the dreaming god bound him in fetters at last 

To paint other visions, and new. 

On wings rapid fancy soon wafted him home, 

To his kindred and dear native isle ; 
His fair Arrodell to meet him had flown 

With affection's caress and a smile. 

His dear aged parents, to see him once more 
Could scarcely their rapture restrain ; 

While his sweet blooming sisters a thousand times o'er 
They kissed him again and again. 

Each object that met his now favoring sight 
Held a claim on his memory and love. 

While merry hearts joined in some festive delight 
Their home-chaste affections to prove. 

The mansion illumined with tapers soon threw 

Their glory and brilliancy round, 
And beauty and fashion in ecstasy flew • 

In circles at music's sweet sound. 

And Arrodell, fair as the goddess of spring, 

Appeared in the fanciful throng, 
As light as a paradise bird on its wing 

When the orange grove rings with its song. 

He gazed on her form in a triumph of bliss, 
While he clasped her with joy to his breast, 

And thought in a moment of rapture like this. 
No warrior e'er was so blest. 



THE warrior's DREAM. 31 1 

Rich garlands of posies were scattered around 

And woven in letters of fame ; 
Bright mottoes of valor and praise strewed the ground, 

That were graven in gold with his name. 

But, hark ! what is this ? there are martial alarms 

That break on his slumbering ear; 
With the trumpet's loud blast, and soldier to arms, 

Arise ! and for battle prepare ! 

He dashes the fetters of sleep from his brow, 

And wildly starts from his bed ; 
Ah ! where are those visions of happiness now, 

That late o'er his pillow were shed ? 

" 'Twas a dream !" said the hero, ''too madly flown!" 

As sadly his forehead he pressed ; 
" What a vision to break o'er my soul's dearest throne 

To leave me a victim unblest ! 

" Proud phantom ! how have ye bewildered my soul 

With taunting delights so untrue ! 
When I thought in my spirit with magic control 

I held every dear feature in view !" 

The morning's gray mist hung over the vale. 

The sun had not risen on high. 
When the warrior, clad in his blood-sprinkled mail. 

Did again to the battle-field fly ! 

The clangor of arms, the cannon's deep roar. 
And the war drums were heard from afar; 

And "•freedom or death,'" were the mottoes he wore. 
As he mounted the ramparts of war 1 



318 THE warrior's dream. 

The trophies of valor again are unfurled 

And floated aloft in the breeze ; 
And newlj-won honors again had empearled 

His forehead, he proudly sees. 

But, ah ! ere he turns from the field of the slain 

To join in triumphant career. 
Some envious foe, who in ambush had lain. 

Sent an arrow of death through the air ! 

The warrior's temples the weapon received ; 

From his war-horse he quickly fell, 
But soon an avenger the traitor perceived, 

When he died on the point of the steel. 

But, oh ! what a change from the beautiful dream 
That had broke o'er his slumbering mind. 

Was the sad, bleeding picture of life's closing scene 
O'er a bosom so noble and kind ! 

The deep, muffled drum, the march of the dead, 

Now told that the hero was gone ; 
Yet fame has a monument placed o'er his head, 

Which the deeds of his valor had won ! 

And oft as the summer her flowers unfold, 

And violets peep from his grave. 
Shall the story by wandering minstrels be told 

As a dirge to the true and the brave ! 



A TALE OP THE CRUSADES. 319 



A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 

Do you see that castle peeping just beyond the mountain 

side, 
With ivy darkly creeping o'er its turrets far and wide ? 
I'll tell you now a story that happened long ago, 
While the crusaders were passing through the valley far 

below. 

There was a lovely princess, Esbatena was her name. 
Who to see her lordly uncle to the stately palace came ; 
She was a maid of beauty, and of sweet, engaging mind. 
And many were the suitors who to wed her felt inclined. 

But then fair Esbatena cared for none among the throng, 
Though many great and wealthy did to the train belong; 
All thought her cold and haughty, though beautiful 

withal, 
And wondered that among the whole, none could her 

heart enthrall. 

But then there was a reason ; for the maid had seen be- 
fore 

One whoni her young and gentle mind could honor and 
adore : 

It was a gallant stranger-knight, a hero on the way 

Toward the fields of Palestine, — below the army lay. 

She saw him at the tournament her lordly uncle gave, 
Without the stately castle walls, to try her suitors brave. 



320 A TALE OP THE CRUSADES. 

When suddenly the stranger-knight, with tall and grace- 
ful mien, 

With visor closed and golden spurs, appeared upon the 
scene. 

He tilted with the greatest lords, although to all un- 
known, 

And with such ease and bravery that many a knight 
was thrown ; 

All wondered who the hero was, rich clothed in gold and 
gray, 

Who came up from the crusade band that in the valley 
lay. 

Some thought he was a mighty prince from neighboring 
realm or power; 

Such prowess they had never seen in lord or knight be- 
fore ; 

And some thought him a goodly monk, of noble kith 
and kin. 

Whose zeal was leading him away to the walls of Pales- 
tine. 

The lovely Esbatena gazed with fond, admiring eye 

Upon the noble cavalier when he came riding by; 

He sat upon his charger bold with proud and gallant 

air; 
She thought the visored youth a prize for any lady fair. 

He saw the triumph he had won upon the maiden's 

mind. 
For long, in secret, he had loved this creature chaste 

and kind ; 



A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 321 

Yet little did the princess dream who was the warrior 

brave 
Who now among the suitors came her favoring smiles 

to crave. 

Yet more than charmed, we have to say, the lovely 

maiden felt, 
When as a victor he approached and at her feet he 

knelt ; 
She thought had she a realm to give, a crown to then 

bestow. 
The whole she would most freely give this visored youth 

to know. 

"Fair lady," said the gallant knight, with modest air 
and bland, 
While through his half-closed casque he spoke, and 
kissed her snowy hand, 
" Your beauty I will ne'er forget in danger's darkest 
hour. 
And thoughts of you my arm shall nerve to victory 
and power. 

" I'm going to the holy wars on the plains of Palestine: 
In victory, or life, or death, dear lady, I am thine. 
Should e'er the joyous hour come to favor my return. 
Then, lady, who your slave is now your gentle heart 
shall learn !" 

Then quickly vaulting on his steed he left the gazing 

throng, 
'Mid wondering eyes and valorous shouts that lasted 

loud and long ; 

28 



322 A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 

And soon he joined the battle ranks and led his army on, 
Those honored soldiers of the cross, to death or victory 
won. 

But from this hour the maiden's cheek grew sickly, pale, 

and wan. 
She mourned because the gallant youth to the crusade 

war was gone ; 
His prowess and his noble mien dwelt in that heart of 

hers, 
And well she knew she loved the knight with the casque 

and golden spurs. 

She thought could she have only seen the warrior's 

manly face. 
The better in her memory '^his dauntless form to trace. 
It would have been a holy bliss to cheer her youthful 

heart 
While war, with all its brooding ills, should keep them 

thus apart. 

And oft at evening's stilly hour the princess would re- 
pair 

To the turret walls to lonely muse and breathe the genial 
air, 

And far her eager eyes would roam along the vales 
below. 

Remembering when her crusade knight there led his 
army through, — 

And wondering, now the war was o'er, if he would soon 

return, 
For still her heart more anxious grew the hero's fate to 

learn ; 



A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 323 

And much she longed the time to see that would his 

name reveal, 
Or like a gallant suitor come and again before her 

kneel. 

Three years had sped their weary way; the summer 
reign was o'er, 

And autumn tints began to glow with sweet and gor- 
geous power, 

When Esbatena, lone and sad, upon the turrets strayed. 

And saw a lonely horseman wind along the mountain 
glade. 

Though weary, still the rider sat most nobly on his 

steed. 
With coat of mail well dusted o'er, yet lagging was his 

speed; 
The princess thought that stately form she'd seen before 

that day, 
With the visor of his helmet closed, and suit of gold and 

gray. 

How did her gentle bosom throb, what visions filled her 

brain, 
As she saw the noble cavalier approaching once again ! 
What nameless thoughts, what anxious fears her every 

passion stirs, 
As she sees alight from his panting steed the knight 

with the golden spurs ! 

Scarce had she gained her garden bower when there the 

warrior came, 
And kneeling, kissed her snowy hand and gently breathed 

her name : 



324 A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 

"Fair lady, I have come, you see, as a true and valiant 
knight. 
My promise to redeem with thee, though worn and 
weary quite. 

" Three years and more of battle toil on Asia's burning 

plains 
Hath bronzed my brow, but hath not quenched the 

ardor in my veins. 
I love thee still, sweet lady fair, as faithful knight 

should love. 
But whether I thy smiles shall share my presence now 

will prove. 

"Alas ! though valorous I have been, nor felt one coward 

fear 
When death and fury round me raged, I feel a coward 

here ! 
Lady, when I shall breathe my name and be made 

known to thee. 
Though thou hast loved, I know it all, thy soul will 

shrink from me ! 

" Yea, I have heard, when far away, of thy wan and 

faded cheek. 
Of the power I held o'er thy gentle breast which now 

thy looks bespeak. 
But let the blow of fate descend, as a knight of the 

cross I stand ; 
Lady, it is Guzpero seeks the honor of thy hand !" 

"Guzpero!" screamed the stricken fair, whose cheek 
grew ashy pale : 

"The gods are false that brought thee here; thy pres- 
ence makes me quail ; 



A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 325 

The murderer of my father here ! this is too much to 
bear ! 

My doom is sealed ; I now shall die the victim of de- 
spair !" 

" Nay, nay, dear lady ! say not so ! think well of what 

has past ! 
Remember, I am penitent ! crime will not always last. 
If sorrow for my guilt can wash the fearful stain away, 
Then, lady, I have borne enough the solemn debt to 

pay! 

" I love thee, noble lady fair, with knightly truth and 

zeal. 
And all the pangs remorse can give I have been taugh 

to feel; 
A thousand worlds I'd freely give could I revive once 

more 
That honored father, brave and kind, thou dost so 

much deplore." 

The princess shrank with nameless dread; her heart 

was in despair ; 
To wed her father's murderer ! the thought she could 

not bear. 
Her cheek grew blanched, for horror spread its gloom 

upon her brow, 
And much she wished ere that sad day her heart had 

been laid low. 

To think that she had loved so true, and hated with 

such hate 
Two beings, who now both proved one — how wretched 

was her fate ! 

28* 



326 A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 

One she had loved as gallant knight and soldier of the 

cross ; 
The other hated as a fiend who caused her father's loss. 

She gazed upon his beauteous form in all his manly 

pride, 
For now the hero stood revealed, his casque was thrown 

aside ; 
She saw his melancholy air, his mild and pensive brow. 
And thought a youth so perfect ne'er had yet redeemed 

a vow. 

But then she quickly turned aside, she could not let 
the charm 

Of beauty and of manliness her gentle soul disarm ; 

Though she had loved as none could love, still holy 
honor bade 

Her treat with scorn the foe who had her thus an or- 
phan made. 

" Fly not, fair lady !" cried the knight, as now he seized 

her hand ; 
**For one brief space I must, indeed, your gentle ear 
command ! 
Your angel heart is steeped in tears at mournful 

changes past. 
But when the truth of all you hear you'll blame me 
not at last !" 

" Would to the gods !" the maiden said, " this thing were 



even so 



It would a blissful rapture give that well might heal 
my woe ; 



A TALE OF THE CRUSADES. 32t 

For I have e'er been taught to feel a terror at thy 
name, 

Since by thy hand, I have been told, my father's death- 
blow came." 

" It did, dear lady ! but the fault, his dying hps confessed, 
Was all his own, since sternly he the case of honor 

pressed ; 
His fiery zeal gave an offense no man of soul could 

brook, 
' And sure a craven I had been on such to calmly look. 

" Words brought on words of angry tone, which soon to 

frenzy grew. 
And while insulted honor bled, he aimed to pierce me 

through ; 
Maddened with vengeance, then I rose; and, lady, 

need I tell ? 
A challenge passed between us, when thy honored 

father fell ! 

" But, lady ! three long years or more of penitence and 

prayer 
I trust hath proved my holy zeal, my faith and love 

sincere ; 
It was for this I left my home for the wars of Palestine, 
That I might claim thy heart at last, and joyful call 

thee mine. 

"Now tell me," said the noble knight, as at her feet he 

knelt, 
" Fair lady, as a warrior brave, could I else then have 
dealt ? 
And since it was a deep affair for honor to decide. 
And I thy father's pardon have, wilt thou not be my 
bride?" 



328 A TALE OP THE CRUSADES. 

"Thank holy Heaven !" the princess cried; "this is a 

feature new : 
Far different has the tragic scene been painted to my 

view. 
Convince me now of this, sir knight, that thou dost 

bear with thee 
My father's pardon, and I vow thy own true bride 

to be!" 

" 'Tis here!" the joyous knight replied, as in her hand 
he placed 
A scrawl he from his bosom took which had been rudely 

traced ; 
And what was now the maiden's bliss as these words 
met her eye, — 
" Guzpero, thou my pardon hast, and blessing, ere I die !" 

The princess knew her father's hand, though traced 

with trembling frame. 
Nor needed she a fairer proof than his own strange 

style and name. 
Next moment was her soul in tears, her form in her 

lover's arms. 
And the hero of the holy wars was the owner of her 

charms. 

Such joy before was never known within those castle 

walls : 
For days and nights was music heard resounding 

through its halls ; 
But soon her lord bore her away in gorgeous pomp 

and state. 
When speedily she found her knight as truly good as 

great ! 



THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SON. 329 

THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SON. 

A TALE OF THE SEA. 

Upon a mossy cliff there stood, 
Whose height o'erlooked the sea, 

A humble fisherman's abode 
In peerless majesty. 

The snow-capped waves, in every form 

Of grandeur and of grace, 
Curled playful in each swelling storm 

Around its coral base. 

The mighty winds that swept the shore 

Threw out their murmurs wild ; 
But music was the surges' roar 

To this brave ocean child. 

His castellated home, though rude, 

Defied the pelting blast. 
And in this sacred solitude 

He many a year had passed. 

But there no merry vine had flung 

Its laughing branches round ; 
Yet seaweeds, rich with coral strung, 

And pearl shells strewed the ground. 

And on this isolated spot 

This child of nature dwelt, 
Contented with his humble lot, 

Nor fear nor danger felt. 



330 THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SON, 

But think not he was all alone, — 

No, no ! two beings dear 
Were there to fill affection's throne, 

Affection's claims to share. 

An anorel wife and darlinor son 

Were subjects to impart 
Delight when daily work was done, 

And soothe his aching heart. 

The boy was fair, was chaste and kind, 

To every virtue given ; 
Bold honor centered in his mind 

Like some sweet star of heaven ! 

And ever would he nobly brave 
The dangers of the deep ; 

He loved to be upon the wave 
And o'er its bosom sweep. 

And oft as rosy morn would spread 
Her beauty o'er the skies, 

The father and the son would speed, 
Or to their labors rise. 

Yes ! scarce the sun would glorious rise 

Above the raging main, 
When these two beings, good as wise. 

Were on its waves again. 

Their little bark they'd launch away 

Upon the waters deep, 
Returning at the close of day 

To climb their craggy steep ; 



THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SON. 331 

When Angellett, with fond caress, 
Would hail them home with joy, 

And many a welcome kiss impress 
Upon her fearless boy ! 

And soon a cheerful meal was spread 

Of sweet and savory kind. 
Of fish, wild fowl, and home-made bread, 

To bless each weary mind. 

And oft some deep and thrilling tale 

The fisherman would tell. 
Enough to make the heart turn pale 

While on them he would dwell, 

Of dangers they did often brave 

When on the roaring sea. 
When tempests swelled each mighty wave 

As high as mountains be. 

Thus Angellett would ever fear 

When they were far away. 
If clouds of threat'ning would appear, 

Or darkness veiled the day. 

High on the cliff* this wife would stand 

As evening shades drew near, 
With lantern in her trembling hand 

To guide their vessel there. 

And often has the beacon proved 

A bright and friendly guide. 
To bring those beings, dearly loved, 

In safety to her side. 



332 THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SON. 

But on a day the clouds rose high, 

The sun its glory veiled, 
Blackness and storm hung o'er the sky 

Soon after they had sailed. 

All nature looked in sable gloom 

As onward hours rolled ; 
The roaring from the ocean's tomb 

A knell of horror toll'd. 

As night approached, a thousand fears 
Oppressed the anxious wife ; 

'Mid storm, she to the cliff repairs. 
At risk of death or life. 

There on the frowning brow she stood 
Above the foaming surge ; 

Lashed by the winds, the rolling flood 
Sent forth a solemn dirge. 

Long, long she gazed upon the deep, 

Till horrid darkness fell 
In gathering clusters at her feet . 

As though by demon spell. 

To leave the spot she could not bear, 
Though dangers gathered fast ; 

Her heart clung to those beings dear 
Who on its waves were cast. 

She wept, and wrung her tender hands ; 

Her piercing cries were vain ; 
No husband, son, before her stands. 

Perhaps will ne'er again ! 



THE FALSE-HEARTED. 333 

She now her sentinel bugle blew — 

No answer met the sound ; 
From this her wearied spirit drew 

The picture they were drown'd. 

Again the bugle she applies 

With more than human power ; 
Its voice upon the tempest dies, 

Or rolls along the shore. 

Despair now flows in every vein ; 

The horn is thrown aside ; — 
Hark 1 there's a sound ! again, again ! 

'Tis from the ocean wide ! 

Great God be praised ! the boat it nears 

The tempest-beaten shore, 
And soon a signal voice she hears 

Amid the surges' roar. 

" List, list ! all's well! all's well !" 

With joy she hails the sound ; 
And meeting accents loudly tell 

The deep-mourned lost were found ! 



-^^- 



THE FALSE-HEARTED. 

PUBLISHED MANY YEARS AGO. REPUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 

When first I saw thee in thy youth. 

There shone such sweetness round thee ; 

Thy lips they spoke that promised truth 
As though fair virtue crowned thee. 



334 THE FALSE-HEARTED. 

Thy azure eye beamed peace divine, 
Yet still thy tongue deceived me ; 

For none could doubt such vows as thine, 
And I, too soon, believed thee. 

For when thy vows my fancy led 

To judge by Heaven were truly plighted. 

Such dreams of bliss their radiance spread 
That all my hours with peace united. 

But thou hast proved severe, unkind. 
And hours of bliss have now departed ; 

And from the sigh and tear I find 

That thou hast left me broken-hearted. 

But, go ! thou false, deluding man ! 

Perhaps 'tis best those ties should sever,- 
Though joys endured so short a span, 

Still painful memory lives forever ! 

Think not I ever can forget thee, 
Although we part; afiection still 

Shall prove a refuge to protect thee 
From censure's unrelenting will. 

Then fare thee well ! and yet forever 
Still this heart shall fondly glow 

With purest feelings, ceasing never 
Choicest blessings to bestow. 



THE FALL AND DEATH OP POMPEY. 335 



THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

Oh, Rome ! thy name upon the classic page 
Stands Hke a motto carved in human gore ! 

While all the horrors of the darkened age 
Rush to the mind in deep, revolting power ! 

Those days of yore, when war and carnage rung 
O'er Thessaly's plains, by Roman armies trod, 

When swift and sure the battle-spear was flung, 
And proud ambition steeped their steps in blood. 

Recorded age of civil strife and woe. 

When Roman heroes fought for lofty sway, 

When kindred legions fell on kindred foe. 
And streaming o'er the battle-field they lay. 

Hark ! from the Forum peals are ringing loud — 
'' Down with the cause of liberty I" they cry ; 

While Cesar's name resounding from the crowd — 
'Tis Cesar must the regal throne supply ! 

But Cesar's foe, brave Pompey, e'er the great ! 

With Cato's valiant and decisive power, 
Resolved to mar the pride of royal state, — 

Would have that tyrants trample Rome no more. 

He, the bold conqueror of proud legions strong, 
The pirate's terror and the traitor's fear. 

Beneath whom Mithridates fell ere long 
A vanquished hero, in his bright career ; 



336 THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

He, the proud star of Roman glory, see ! 

First in the field amid the battle's rage, 
Then in the Forum, eloquent and free. 

The light and honor of the classic age ! 

But now the contest on Pharsalia's plains : 
Two armies meet, all mailed in armor bright, 

Their pennants waving, while deep martial strains 
Proclaim the conquerors ready for the fight. 

Cesar and Pompey with their legions come; 

The war shouts ring along Enipen's shore ; 
Each heavy phalanx rushes to its doom, — 

To bravely conquer or to rise no more ! 

The clash of arms, the timbrels, trumpets sound, 
The clarions ring with loud and noisy swell ; 

While fifteen thousand veterans strew the ground. 
Like warriors fought, like Roman heroes fell ! 

But now the voice of triumph on the gale 

Swells loud and long, — 'tis notes of victory won 

Comes o'er the vanquished with its madd'ning tale : 
For Cesar basks beneath a conquering sun ! 

Pompey had fallen ! yet though unsubdued, 
His lofty soul sought refuge swift in flight. 

Till force and valor were again renewed. 
And mightier legions aid him in the fight. 

For hope and chivalry hung o'er his brow. 
Bright as a meteor from the throne of Jove, 

Believing slavish tyranny must bow 
Before the sway of liberty and love. 



THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 33 1 

But true, his august mind was wrecked with scorn 
To see his faithless troops desert his cause ; 

'Twere worse than death their treachery to mourn, 
And see them fly from honor's sacred laws. 

Yet the bold warrior lifts his potent mind 

That had nigh drooped in anguish and despair ; 

Mounting his war steed, sought a home to find 
Secure from foes who craved his life-blood there. 

Night came ; the moon in softened grandeur rose. 
As now brave Pompey, with a chosen few. 

Left the sad plains of slaughter and his foes, 
His journey onward quickly to pursue. 

Three days and nights he onward sped his way 
Along the mountain crags and rivers fair ; 

And now within a fisher's hut he lay; 

The rudest couch his noble form must bear. 

The morning dawns ; a flimsy barge is seen 

Launched on the waves by his remaining band ; 

'Tis void of splendor, seeming low and mean, 

But now it bears the vanquished chief from land. 

But there are beings holy to his view ; 

A wife, a son, now sharers of his fate. 
Are on the deck, with feelings chaste and true. 

Resolved to follow and his doom await. 

Cornelia, daughter of the Scipio brave. 

All beauteous as the summer's genial smile, 

And Sextus, his own son, now share the wave 
That bears him o'er to some protecting isle. 
29* 



338 THE EALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

Some days elapsed ; 'twas but a transient while, 
Joined by some galleys of a chosen few, 

Now scarce two thousand, anchored in the Nile, 
And Egypt's shores burst on their straining view. 

Now on the prow the noble warrior stood. 
His corslet gleaming in the morning light, 

His jeweled breast, reflecting in the flood, 

Gemmed with the richest pearls and diamonds bright ; 

His brazen helmet pressed his lofty brow, 
Decked with a plume of oriental grace ; 

While something like a smile of triumph now 
Lit up his manly and heroic face. 

Firm on the vessel's deck his classic form 
Stood, like a brave Apollo of the age ; 

He hoped, he trusted in no coming storm 
To throw a cloud on life's historic page. 

His gentle wife, Cornelia, near his side. 

His arm around her slender waist was flung, 

While eloquence aff'ection could not hide 

Fell from her lips, like music from her tongue. 

It was in warnings from her gentle heart, 
A thousand fears sprang up within her mind. 

Lest they should be forever doomed to part. 
And foes instead of friends now early find. 

And why ? ah ! see yon legions from the shore. 
Those turbaned hosts with burnished deadly spears ; 

And loud is heard the barbarous music's roar. 
The wild tympanum, as the army nears. 



THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 339 

The clashing cymbals and Egyptian bells, 
The rolling bugle and the cyntrum's note, 

Now on the breeze of morning proudly swells 
And o'er the Nile in martial numbers float. 

While from the shore a barge is seen to move, 
Bearing toward them with the utmost speed, 

And turbaned warriors now advance to prove 
Their souls well worthy of a bloody deed. 

But Pompey, with a mind unchained by fear. 
No coward impious thoughts invade his soul ; 

He deems a rescuing friendly army near, 

Nor dreams from thence of human treachery foul. 

Watching heroic from the vessel's prow 

The mighty hosts that thronged the Egyptian coast, 
He kissed his wife, and said, " Fair angel, now 

Thy Cneius can of certain victory boast ! 

" Those turbaned warriors and those noble steeds. 
See how they prance and curve the ambient air ; 

They seem prepared for war's determined deeds, — 
Those Ptolemies are heroes brave and rare. 

" Yes ! such a host with Gate's valiant band, 
A good ten thousand, we can soon eiface 

The solemn blot from fair Pharsalia's land. 
That fills my heart with festering disgrace." 

"Alas ! my Cneius !" the fond Cornelia said, 
With pleading look and anguish in her soul, 

" Some deep, dark snare for thee is surely laid, 
I feel from thoughts I cannot well control ! 



340 THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

" Some hovering gloom, of sad foreboding kind, 
Steals o'er me like a sea of sudden woe. 

I would, my love, this visit be declined ; 
I pray thee, dearest, stay! ah, do not go !" 

" Tush, tush ! my life ! my more than dearest, thou 
Dispel these fears ! why look so trembling sad ? 

Cheer up ! let hope set on thy gentle brow, 
For joys triumphant surely may be had! 

" Have they not oft, by former acts and deeds, 
Gave me to feel their constancy and power ? 

I've been their friend, and this it is that leads 
Me to believe they are the same this hour. 

" I trust my life by all the rules of war 
To their high honor, and I hope to find 

Help and protection 'neath fate's guiding star : 
Be as it may, my heart must bow resigned !" 

"Alas ! my husband ! shall I doubt thee true ? 

Remember those all dearest to thy heart : 
Our noble boy, our valiant Cato too. 

With daring Cicero ! canst thou from us part ? 

"Afranius, Labienus, are all in arms. 

Thy bravest friends, a host of proudest blood ! 

And wilt thou, 'midst the direst of alarms. 
Thus leave us ? All bodes to thee no good ! 

" See, look ! my husband ! at that humble yacht ; 

No ^oyal ensign on its mast appears ! 
It is an insult, and a sad fiat, 

Not such as monarchs send for noble seers !" 



THE FALL AND DEATH OP POMPEY. 341 

"And there !" cried Sextus, while the hlush of scorn 
Mounted his proud, his manly Roman brow ; 

" Their royal crafts I see are yonder borne, — 
'Tis insult, father, they would offer now ! 

" Oh ! hear the pleadings of thy anxious son ! 

Let Fabius and others swiftly bring 
Their pikes and spears, and bid them now begone, 

Ay ! quick as rain drops from the sea-bird's wing." 

" Peace, Sextus ! 'Tis the brave Achilles ! he 

The leader of the array ! and, behold ! 
The king's preceptor ! highly honored we 

May deem ourselves, though not of this foretold ! 

"A vaunt with scrupulous notions ! see, they smile, 
And fain would give us tender greeting, boy ! 

I little care for silly forms of style; 

They thought, perhaps, 'twould give but meager joy." 

It nears ; the salutations pass in formal state : 

"All hail, brave Pompeius!" cried the dark-skinned 
foe; 

"All hail ! thou whom the world calls vastly great. 
And who hath laid the strength of armies low ! 

" Thy slaves, great Pompey ! friendly greetings bear 
To thee from their devoted, mighty king. 

Who now invites thee royal claims to share. 
And bid us thy most noble self to bring ! 

" He waits thy presence, most exalted sage ! 

We will conduct thee to his royal tent, 
And courteous thou wilt find him, we engage, 

Since for his benefactor we were sent !" 



342 THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

" Hail to Achilles !" was the prompt reply; 

" To Proteus ! Theodotus, ever brave ! 
I greet you welcome ! draw, I pray you, nigh !" 

And Pompey each the hand of friendship gave. 

" Thanks to your noble liege and august sire 
For making thus his goodly pleasure known ! 

To other favors I would fain aspire. 

And will attend you to his regal throne !" 

" Nay, nay ! my husband ! noblest, bravest, best ! 

Thou lovest Cornelia ! thine own faithful wife ! 
If thou wouldst see thyself with glory blest, 

Go not, I pray ! oh, save thy precious life ! 

"Methinks this is a greeting strange and new, 

So void of every honor and display ; 
While royal barges gilded lie in view, 

The king, my lord, more courtesy should pay !" 

" Silly, my love ! drive off these idle fears !" 
The husband said ; ^'I cannot bear this gloom ! 

Come, let me kiss away those anxious tears- 
Let hope and peace thy gentle brow illume !" 

Yet while he spoke he found his courage fail ; 

Philosophy was trembling on its throne ; 
His loving gaze now told a madd'ning tale 

More keen than what his generous lips could own. 

He pressed her to his broad and throbbing breast, 
And on her brow sealed many a fervent kiss ; 

" Bj all my hopes, Cornelia ! it is best 
For me to go in such a time as this ! 



THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 343 

" I must away ! thou art a suppliant fair ! 

But duty calls me now from friends and home ! 
To say thee nay, like daggers on me bear ; 

Before love comes the safety of proud Rome !" 

And now Achilles spoke with haughty smile, 
Indignant at her rising doubts and fears : 

"And so, Cornelia !" said this friend of guile, 
" Thou art opposed, as plainly now appears ! 

" Thou doubtest, ay ! the honor of our king ! 

Ptolemy is brave ! but, mind thou well. 
Could we not, lady, mighty legions bring, 

And thy liege lord immediately compel 

" To go with us, without one favoring word, 
On board our craft ? but we are men, nor care 

To be too over-nice, though we have heard 
Some like in gorgeous etiquette to share ! 

" No need of so much form, we should suppose ; 

'Twere loyalty and kindness we mean : 
Our noble king these better movements chose 

To give more friendly freedom to the scene ! 

" Thinkest thou three Roman galleys e'er could bravfe, 
Well-manned, such as they now appear to be. 

Yon hosts that we could launch upon the wave, 
Not half of which the roving eye may see ? 

" But now 'tis well ! thou doubtest us in truth ! 

We can return to our most royal sire ! 
Yet much we think thee proudly wrong forsooth, 

Though darest, as slaves, thy beauty to admire!" 



344 THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 

"Insolent wretch ! barbarian vile! away !" 
The fearless wife in deepest anguish cried ; 

" Barest thou to Roman daughter thus reply ? 
Foul dastard ! thou hast meanly, basely lied !" 

" Peace, Cornelia ! now thy Pompey hear ; 

Sure terror hath dethroned thy lofty mind; 
Thou shouldst afford our friends more happy cheer,- 

They sure will deem thee haughty and unkind ! 

" But thou wilt yet, in future, better learn. 

Come, kiss me, love ! again ! I must away ! 
Ere sets the sun I shall to thee return ; 

No longer, dearest, can I now delay !" 

Then springing from her gentle, kind embrace, 
Thus spoke the warrior from his ardent soul : 

" My wife ! my Sextus ! blood of my own race ! 
Let honor, glory, all your acts control 

" In all the future ! may the gods descend 
Upon your path, and virtue be your aim ! 

May Heaven prove your constant guiding friend, 
And make you worthy of a lofty name !" 

Again he clasped them to his throbbing breast ; 

Again he charged them wait his glad return ; 
Breathing — he thought it surely wisest — best 

As glory might his future fortune earn. 

"Yes," said Achilles, while his sable face 
Gleamed with a most unearthly savage smile, 

" Thy noble self, brave Pompey, we will place 
In glorious splendor in a transient while ! 



THE FALL AND DEATH OF POMPEY. 345 

" Greatness and pomp await thee on our shore, 
Or we would not thus come in humble barge ; 

But shallow waters would not grant us more 

Than this light craft to bear thy form in charge." 

Enough ! the hero gave the parting kiss, 
One more adieu he waved to son and wife. 

Then sprang on board with hopes of future bliss. 
Trusting foul tyrants with his precious life. 

Oh, fate ! didst thou not do thy impious worst 
To thus delude so bright a star of Rome, 

And leave him with those wretched souls accurst. 
To share a vile and ignominious doom ? 

Light skimmed the galley o'er the dimpled stream ; 

The oars were plied with swift but measured aim. 
While Pompey stood, wrapped in affection's dream. 

Gazing on those more dear than life or fame. 

Not long they see his lingering look of love, 

As now upon the fatal deck he stood. 
For those surround who would his murderers prove. 

And soon his form is bathed in crimson blood. 

Yea, while the hero gave the cordial hand 
To some vile traitor recognized too well, — 

A foul betrayer from his native land, — 

He through their blows a slaughtered victim fell. 

For at a signal that Achilles gave. 

The fatal weapons thick around him flew. 

Sprinkling with blood the proud, the mighty brave 
Who stood most firm and dauntless in their view. 
30 



34 f) TO THK PEITV. 

One look soon told him treachery was there ; 

He saw at once his solemn, bitter fate ; 
A captive now within their hellish snare, 

Doomed he must fall a victim to their hate. 

He saw the mark of dark, designing Cain 

Stamped on their false and hell-devoted brows ; 

And as they struck, he bid them strike again. 

Nor moved nor swerved from their descending blows. 

But soon his pale and lifeless body fell 

Down to the deck, all steeped in purple gore ; 

While naught but death cast round its solemn spell 
To tell the world that Pompey was no more. 



-m^- 



TO THE DEITY. 

To Thou, whose glory decks the skies, 
I would some sacred anthem raise ; 
For bright as sunlit glories fall. 
Thy love can gladden memory's scrawl. 
Thy beauties rise before my view. 
To wake some dream of rapture new ; 
And dull must e'er the vision be 
That loses, Lord, the sight of thee ! 
For all thy wondrous works declare 
Thy spirit lingers everywhere : 
If upwards I direct mine eye. 
Then thousand glories deck the sky, 



TO THE DEITY. 347 

To cast a charm o'er reason's throne, 
While viewing all those worlds thine own ; 
If in the bosom of the deep 
The human vision dare to creep, 
Each hidden wonder there could tell 
Thou dost 'mid voiceless silence dwell. 

What though romantic poets dream, 
And wake in tune some fairy theme 
Of mermaids sporting 'neath the wave, 
'Mid many a sparkling diamond cave, 
Or wandering through each coral grove 
To hold their voiceless feasts of love ; 
This one thing doth my spirit know, 
Thou art a God, above, below, 
That walks serene, 'mid calm and storm, 
In all thy mystic, glorious form. 
The seasons change at thy command, 
And sweetly thy majestic hand 
Is over every feature drawn — 
From towering wood to verdant lawn, 
From craggy cliff to ivy bower. 
All still reveal thy sovereign power. 

Far down in depths where human aid 
Hath no inroads from venture made, 
Or science with her magic rule 
Sought out as yet, 'mid nature's school. 
Those hidden wonders, great and wide. 
Thy matchless wisdom hath supplied ; 
Yet there, 'mid august silence, we 
May study thy immensity ! 



348 TO THE DEITY. 

But hoarj Time is on the wing, 
And must ten thousand advents bring ; 
And though for slumbering ages past, 
The earth's broad tomb hath envious cast 
Her midnight shadows o'er thy toil, 
The march of mind shall wake the soil, 
And myriad wonders be revealed 
From human vision now concealed, 
To blazon Time's historic page 
In that propitious future age. 
When every nation shall agree 
And own the world is full of Thee ! 



THE END. 







